


Constraint (ILLUSTRATED)

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ATTEMPTED non-con kissing, ATTEMPTED non-con touching, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bodily Fluids, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dysphoria, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Violence, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), No non-con sex, Non-Sexual Bondage, Oral Sex, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Psychological Trauma, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Sexual Harassment, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), dysmorphia, dysphoric thoughts, insect demon, minor original character death, trauma-induced dysmorphia, trauma-induced dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25314310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: READ THE TAGS. Yes it has a lot, on purpose. There are potentially triggering elements in this fic.Aziraphale is hit by a lust curse and tries to hit on Crowley, who restrains him for his own safety and refuses to take part as the angel can’t consent while cursed.Crowley cares for Aziraphale while he tries to work out how to break the curse. He goes through hell mentally and literally to do so, but when he does, Aziraphale still insists that he loves Crowley. This makes Crowley think that he didn’t succeed in breaking the curse and pitches him into further despair. Aziraphale has to lie and hurt Crowley to convince him that he’s cured and to let him go. This of course just reinforces Crowely’s fears anyway.Aziraphale then has to take time to reassure Crowley that he does actually love him, and help him heal from the mental trauma of the events.Illustration in chapter 12 by Alice Rovai.NSFW angst, hurt and comfort with happy ending. TW for attempted noncon kissing/touching, graphic violence, blood, minor character death (enemy), bodily fluids, bondage, dysphoria/dysmorphia. (NO noncon or dubcon sex).
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 372
Kudos: 308





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry there'll always be a happy ending, but it'll be a rough ride getting there. 
> 
> In Chapter 1, Aziraphale is feeling extremely out of sorts. Driven to distraction, he seeks out the one constant in his life who has always helped him before, to seek his help. 
> 
> Just a short initial chapter, the chapters get rather longer later on.

They never did find out who ultimately ordered it, or why, although Crowley had his suspicions. Hell certainly knew that he and Aziraphale had an arrangement of some sort after they worked together to prevent the end of the world. When they found out that they couldn’t kill the angel and demon, it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t try some other more inventive ways of messing with them. 

Some demon must have been lying in wait for Aziraphale, been watching him, studying his habits. Must have come into the bookshop and left the box of pastries there with a note that had only the letter “C” stamped on it (not written, they were clever enough not to try to mimic Crowley’s handwriting lest it be recognised as false). Still, the angel had assumed the gift to be from Crowley, and had tucked in. 

Crowley wondered if they’d known what the result would be. If the curse woven into the treat was a generic lust curse to aim the consumer at whoever the nearest being was, or if it was aimed specifically at Crowley. Or perhaps just that Aziraphale only thought of Crowley, and no other living being in that way, and so hadn’t simply stormed out of the shop and grabbed the nearest human to slake the sudden overwhelming lust with.

Either way, he was grateful that the angel had sought him out, if only because at least he could deal with it, and it hadn’t led the angel to pushing himself on a human, something he would never have been able to forgive himself for.

* * *

Aziraphale couldn’t think straight. It was overwhelming, the sensation had built up gradually over the past hour or two and was now unbearable. He wasn’t familiar with such acute urgency or what it was his body was demanding of him, practically screaming at him. He paced the bookshop restlessly, growing more and more agitated, hands flexing into fists and back again over and over and over, grinding his teeth.

_(Crowley....)_

When a customer walked in he rounded on them in a fury and screamed at them to _get out_. After they’d fled he was briefly aghast at his behaviour but it soon faded from his mind, and he found himself staring out of the window. What for, he wasn’t sure, but every human walking past made him more and more irritated, as if they were failing him in some way, by not being what he was looking for. 

_(Crowley...)_

He didn’t _know_ what he was looking for, not completely. It was a maddening itch that he didn’t know how to scratch, like a phantom limb pain, and it was almost a pain - yes. More like pain than itch. It was a bone deep ache of incoherent _need_. He’d even manifested his wings, in case whatever torment he was being subjected to and couldn’t reach was hidden with them on the ethereal plane somehow, but it did nothing to help. He flexed and flapped, growled and banished them again.

**_(Crowley…)_ **

The pressure built up and up and up until he couldn’t bear it any more and he began screaming to the ceiling in frustration. He’d never felt like this in his entire existence, _never_ . He was scared, and he was angry. Furious. He felt like a caged animal, all snarling seething pent-up…. _something_. He was losing control. With a roar of rage, he punched the wall in the back room, smashing through the plaster and cracking the brickwork beneath, a flash of lightning and rumble of thunder manifested with his wrath and the very building shook.

He stopped and stared at his own fist in horror at what he’d done. What was happening to him? 

**_(Crowley!)_ **

What the hell was going on?

**_(Crowley, Crowley, Crowley!)_ **

He needed help, he needed to ask **_(Crowley!)_ ** for help, to tell him what it all meant, help him work it out… **_(CROWLEY!)_ **

He had to get out of here. His subconscious was screaming at him, screaming in a language he didn’t understand, a silent language built only out of raw feelings that he couldn’t decipher. Screaming louder and louder and louder inside his own head, he couldn’t drown it out, he screamed some more, fists balled to his temples. He was losing it. He needed help. 

_“Crowley…”_ he whispered to himself. And left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't have done this without a lovely team of Beta Readers:  
> [Yvesriba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvesriba/pseuds/Yvesriba)  
> [CousinSerena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinSerena/pseuds/CousinSerena)  
> [redundant_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redundant_angel/pseuds/redundant_angel)  
> [Book_Keeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Keeper/pseuds/Book_Keeper)
> 
> Thanks for your help in going over this for spelling, grammar, and the usual, but mostly for tone and tagging. There are difficult elements in this fic which can be upsetting for some people, I wanted to ensure they were handled appropriately and tagged to forewarn anyone who might want to make the choice not to read.


	2. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets the sense that something isn't quite right in the air. Aziraphale is heading over and not himself. It's not until they are face to face that both have a realisation. Aziraphale of what it was he was being driven to seek out exactly, and Crowley of what is wrong with Aziraphale.
> 
> It may be something that Crowley has dreamed about for a long time, but knowing that it's not right, Crowley must fall back on his demonic powers to help keep his angel safe from himself.

Crowley was lounging on his sofa and noticed the flash of lightning a split second before the deafening roar of thunder split the sky above him. It was close and had come from nowhere in the middle of a fine clear day. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he understood it wasn’t anything natural. Soho was only a few minutes walk away, and something told him everything was not ok. 

“Aziraphale?” he whispered. Crowley stood and stalked to the floor to ceiling windows, casting his gaze out over the city below, eyes narrowing, not knowing what he was searching for, but a feeling in the depths of his demonic soul told him that something was awry somehow. He didn’t know what or why, and it made him uneasy. He bit his lip and worried at it a little with his teeth, unsure what to do. He waved a hand at the tv to turn it off and fumbled his phone from his pocket, wondering if he should call or not. 

He’d sound like an idiot. 

_‘Uh, hi, Aziraphale, just got scared by a bit of thunder’_ wasn’t the best opening line. He’d sound like exactly the insecure needy creature he was afraid he was deep down. (His subconscious was not kind in its inner monologue.) Crowley paced his apartment a bit, fiddling with his phone and not quite daring to call the angel, wondering what to do. 

Then his senses prickled again. He could sense when Aziraphale was in trouble, he could sense when he was nearby, and could generally tell from here when Aziraphale was in the bookshop or not if he reached out his senses to feel for him, although his serpentlike sense of smell was far more accurate. He went to one of the windows that opened, in the kitchen, and opened it to taste the air clearer. 

He flicked his tongue out and sifted through the multitude of scents drifting up from the city below. He didn’t like to do this in public, but no one could see him here, and it told him far more than his humanoid nose could alone. He could discern Aziraphale on the air, the smell getting stronger, but something else too. 

He was practically climbing on the kitchen sink to get his head further out of the window trying to smell what it was. There was something else vaguely familiar and unsettling on the air, and it was coming closer at the same time as the angel was. It reminded him of hell in some way that he couldn’t put his finger on. His stomach churned in terrified confusion. 

The scent was stronger now and he knew from experience that Aziraphale must be near the bottom of his building now, so he leapt off the sink again and back to the lounge to scan the street below. Sure enough there was the angel striding toward the front door, a determined urgency in his step and frightening set to his shoulders. Crowley wondered what the hell was going on, had he done something wrong? Was Aziraphale angry with him about something?

No, couldn’t be. Crowley was a demon, he could sense certain emotions on the air as well, wrath, pride, jealousy, gluttony, greed, sloth, and… _oh fuck._ Lust? That couldn’t be right? What the hell? He must be mistaken. 

Crowley was yanked out of his thought process by a thundering knocking on his door. He hesitated, not understanding how the angel could be making that insistent angry sound at his door of all places. He slunk warily toward the hall, then leapt backwards as the door smashed inwards off its hinges, revealing an extremely agitated angel in the doorway. 

Aziraphale pinned the demon with fierce steely blue-grey eyes, breathing hard. Crowley froze like a deer in the headlights. This was not his angel. This was not Aziraphale. He smelled like Aziraphale, but that expression was one he’d never seen before. Crowley’s tongue flickered nervously between his lips and the overwhelming scent of lust hit him like a freight train. His eyes flew wide. 

“Aziraphale…?” He whispered in confusion. The angel didn’t answer. He stepped slowly and deliberately through the shattered doorframe, not taking his eyes off the demon. His shoes crunched over the splintering wood until he was standing right in front of Crowley. He lifted a hand to snap and the door miracled itself back together then the sharp snick of a lock shooting home with a scary finality. 

The angel took another step forward, and Crowley reflexively stepped back, before coming up short, his shoulders against the cold concrete wall. Aziraphale didn’t stop, and crowded into his personal space, eyes roving up and down the demon’s slim lithe form lasciviously, a truly alien look on his usually benign features. Crowley could see the angel was tense, every muscle quivering with restraint and something strange simmering under the surface. 

Aziraphale brought one strong hand up to Crowley’s shoulder and gently but firmly pinned him against the wall. He brought his face close to the demon’s neck and breathed deep, nosing up the flutter of his pulse point beneath his jaw, then whispered low and husky into his skin.

“Crowley… I had to come here. I didn’t know why until I saw you. Do you have any idea just how irresistible you are, Crowley? How much I want you? How much I…” he ground his hips up against Crowley’s and yanked a sharp exhalation from the demon, “... _need_ you, Crowley? Well now I know. _Now_ I know.” He kissed Crowley’s neck slowly, making him shudder.

Crowley had dreamed of this. For millennia this had been the stuff of far too many fantasies in the dark of the night than he cared to remember. He’d yearned to feel exactly this touch, these words. But fantasy and reality were distinct creatures. He wasn’t dreaming. Aziraphale was here, now, touching his body, pressing close and demanding reciprocation.

But this wasn’t right. This was not Aziraphale. Crowley could recognise the scent now. Now _HE_ knew what the problem was. The haze of lust was not natural, it was far, far too powerful, it was a curse. The angel had a demonic curse infesting his body, his whole aura, it had taken over his mind and willpower and making him do things he would never dream of. Crowley couldn’t let him do this.

Aziraphale sought out the demon’s lips with his own, tried to kiss him, but Crowley recoiled, writhing his neck to turn his face away and brought his hands up to deflect the angel. “Aziraphale, no. There’s something wrong, this isn’t you…” he tried to gently push Aziraphale away, but before he could finish speaking, the angel snarled and slammed him back against the wall. Crowley felt his cock harden despite himself and he bit back a moan, his body afire with the desire to accept.

“Oh but it is, Crowley. Always has been, you’re mine now, don’t tell me you never knew I wanted you Crowley. I know you wanted _me…_ ” Aziraphale began rutting his hips up against Crowley’s. “Remember the paintball centre, Crowley? How far could we have gone if we hadn’t been interrupted? You did this to me then. I felt it when your hips touched mine, you wanted me then, I wanted you. We could have had this. Now we can…” he tried to push forwards to kiss the demon again. Crowley tried to push back but Aziraphale was strong. He wondered how strong. They’d never actually pitted their powers against each other before, but he didn’t want to hurt his angel. 

“Aziraphale, no! I mean it, please not like this, you’ll regret it. This isn’t you and I know this isn’t how you’d want to do this.” He twisted his face away again, and this time drew up a little demonic power behind his push, coiling it up and then letting it all go in one explosive force, catching Aziraphale unawares. 

The angel was thrown backwards and Crowley darted through to the lounge so he no longer had a wall against his back. What could he do? He needed to get this curse off Aziraphale somehow, but he couldn’t do that while he was trying to do whatever it was he was trying to do to Crowley right now. He looked around desperately, trying to think. While he’d often planned what he’d do if angels came to try to smite him, his plans generally involved rather more lethal force than he was prepared to use on Aziraphale. He’d never planned for what to do if _his_ angel came to aggressively seduce him. 

Aziraphale had picked himself up off the floor in the hall and stormed through to the lounge, single-minded determination driving him forward.

“Angel! Stop! _Look_ at yourself, _THINK_ , god damn you! You’re cursed and I need to help you.”

Aziraphale shook his head and lunged for Crowley, tumbling the pair of them to the floor where they rolled over and over until Crowley had him pinned for a moment. He drew up his demonic power again, hating himself for doing so, and allowed the burn to just rise to his hands a little, just enough to make Aziraphale yelp as his wrists were pinned to the floor by two strong hands. 

“But Crowley, I need you. I _need_ you. You don’t understand…” His voice had become a whine. “Please Crowley, you don’t know how bad it is, how much it’s tormenting me. I’ve needed you for so long now, I need your kiss, I need to feel you…” He writhed against Crowley’s grip, and tears welled up in his beautiful eyes as he searched Crowley’s for understanding. 

The demon was struggling, _Christ,_ Aziraphale was stronger than he’d ever imagined, and he couldn’t step the power up in his hands any more without it manifesting into full-on hellfire and there was no way he was ever going to allow that to happen. “Aziraphale you have to calm down, this isn’t you talking, it’s the curse. Just stop fighting me and let me help you.”

“Crowley, you don’t understand…” he whimpered more at the burning sensation at his wrists. “...I _love_ you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyes flew wide in shock and it was the brief moment of surprise that Aziraphale needed to surge up and overpower him once more, rolling him over and pinning him in turn. The demon wriggled underneath him desperately trying to escape, but now Aziraphale had turned his own trick against him and had drawn up his own celestial power into his hands, burning with a cold angelic fire that screamed against the demon’s nerves in a way he might have found pleasurable in any other circumstances. Aziraphale was kissing and nipping at his neck now, and finally Crowley realised he had one more trick up his sleeve. He hoped it would work. 

He turned his head back to nuzzle into Aziraphale’s neck in turn, kissed the skin lightly, whispered “I’m sorry…” then bit him. Hard.


	3. Embrace of Morpheus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has to find a way to restrain an incredibly strong Principality. Fortunately he has some demonic knowledge to fall back on, and some handy acoutrements hanging around from one of his hobbies.

Crowley’s fangs slid easily through the soft flesh of the angel’s neck and he felt the slightly stinging twinge just below his eyes as his venom squeezed out at high speed, jetting into the wound. He let go quickly, before a full load had been injected, and shoved hard up at the angel again, dislodging him as he clasped at his neck in confusion, a hurt expression on his face. 

“I’m sorry Aziraphale, you’re going to be ok, it wasn’t too much, just try to relax, please, Angel, don’t fight it…” Aziraphale was lying on his back, bewildered, gaping as if trying to speak but unable to form the words. His gaze was fixed on Crowley even as his head lolled back and his hand fell away from his neck. His body went slack but his eyes remained open, disorientated but trying to follow Crowley’s movements as he clambered to his feet, the angel’s eyes jerking with nystagmus, losing focus. 

Aziraphale’s muscles relaxed and his body flopped loose on the floor. At first his fingers twitched spasmodically, and one foot jerked briefly then went still. Crowley cautiously inched forward again, dropping to all fours and advancing, watching carefully, then reaching out to feel for Aziraphale’s pulse under his jaw, finding it rapid and erratic, but strong. His eyes were still trying to focus on Crowley’s face and tried to track him as he moved from side to side which was a good sign. 

“You’re ok, Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured, stroking his feather soft hair gently. “You’re going to be ok. I just needed to settle you down somehow. It’s not permanent, it’s just a temporary paralytic, it’s what a low dose of my venom will do. You won’t be able to move for a while. It’ll let me keep you safe. I’m sorry, Angel. I really am, but I need to protect you from yourself.” He got hold of one knee and raised it up, then Aziraphale’s shoulder, and used them both to roll him over into the recovery position for the moment, lifting his head slightly to rest one of his hands underneath it, tipping his chin back a little to ensure his airway stayed clear. He stroked a comforting hand down the angel’s shoulder briefly before standing again. 

“I’ll be back in a minute Aziraphale, I’m not going to leave you, I’m still in the flat, don’t worry ok? I need to get something.”

Crowley rushed out of the lounge and into the second bedroom where he kept his more interesting personal possessions. He fished around and grabbed at some strong steel shackles and chains. He never imagined that his hobby might actually get a more important use, but he was grateful he had it now. Of course plain steel was nothing to an angel who could miracle himself to safety, but Crowley had a plan. He’d seen this done before, but never thought he’d have to do it himself, and having to do it to Aziraphale of all people hurt him to his very core. But, as they say, he thought bitterly to himself, needs must as the devil drives.

He shut and locked the door just in case, then sat in the middle of the floor and summoned hellfire into his right hand. He held a shackle steady, allowed his fingernails to morph into wickedly sharp demonic claws, blazing with hellfire, and carved a set of complex sigils into the metal with it. He set it aside then repeated it on the others, before finishing with a general curse on the lengths of chain themselves to repeat the effect all the way along. 

He banished the hellfire with a flick of his wrist and lifted the still hot metal, taking it through to the bathroom where he ran the shower over it all to cool it down again, then returned to the lounge and Aziraphale. 

The angel was still lying where he’d left him, eyes still open, body still immobile and slack. Crowley rolled him over and began to fix the shackles to arms and ankles to restrain him, then lifted Aziraphale and carried him gently through to the second bedroom. 

He laid him on the bed in the recovery position again, ensuring he was comfortable, then set about securing the chains to various tiedown points he had set around the room. He realised something when he locked the last one to the floor, and swore, but at least this one he could do with chalk without resorting to hellfire again like he’d needed to for the metal. 

He snapped a piece of chalk into his fingers and carefully drew a small circle around each tiedown point, then surrounded each one with the same sigils he’d carved on the shackles. No supernatural power could break them now until he erased the chalk. 

Next, while Aziraphale lay on the bed, breathing slow and steady, Crowley set about tidying up the room of all the now very unnecessary toys and equipment, moving them elsewhere entirely and trying to make the place look more hospitable, chains aside, and less like the recreational sex dungeon he’d originally created it as. 

This done, he fetched more comfortable pillows and blankets for the bed, brought a jug of water and a cup, then some fruit to place on the bedside table in easy reach of the angel. He stepped close again and double checked his pulse. His eyes were closed now but he seemed to just be sleeping it off. It might give Crowley time to think. 

He didn’t have many books, but what he did have were carefully selected. He stalked through to his own bedroom and opened a cupboard, then scanned the books hidden within. He selected a couple of ancient looking tomes that would look more at home in Aziraphale’s bookshop, and carried them through to the second bedroom. On his way he picked up a notebook and pen as well. He drew a comfortable chair up next to the window, several feet from the bed, and sat down to start reading while he waited for the effects of the venom to wear off.


	4. Angel Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley cares for Aziraphale while he tries to work out what to do. He needs answers - they both do.

After an hour or two, Crowley stood, stretched out his lithe body, then padded quietly over to the bed on bare feet to watch Aziraphale more closely. He hunkered down next to the bed and watched the angel’s slow regular breaths. He reached out to check his pulse again, finding it as normal as his respiration, although his skin was still slightly clammy. 

Noticing the two trickles of dried blood from the puncture wounds on his neck, Crowley frowned, then stood and went to the bathroom, returning with a damp flannel which he used to clean away the dried blood. A tear spilled from the demon’s eye as he tended for his angel, remorseful that he’d had to resort to this to restrain him. He’d never want to hurt Aziraphale, much less use any demonic power over him, and he was waging war with his own inner monologue and conscience over the whole thing. 

He set the flannel aside then ran his hand lightly down the angel’s arm to his hand, and pinched a fingertip. There was the merest flutter of a flinch in the tendons, barely there. He frowned again and sat at the end of the bed to remove Aziraphale’s shoes and socks. He drew one finger sharply up the sole of his foot and was gratified to see his toes curl in reflex to the stimuli. He returned to the angel’s head and took his phone from his pocket. He turned the flashlight on and lifted Aziraphale’s eyelid, before flashing the light across his eye, noting the pupil contracting in response, another good sign. 

Crowley had envenomated before, mainly in self defence. He’d taken down a lion before that had attacked him thousands of years ago. That was when he still allowed his serpentine aspect to react on instinct when under attack. Over time he’d trained himself to try to use his demonic miracles, and to keep his animalistic instincts more under control. He had found out over time that he could control himself and that if he didn’t release a full dose, the venom was not always fatal, but instead could be used to paralyse, and had used that to his advantage in a tight spot. It was always a last resort though. It wasn’t an exact science. 

He knew that it could take several hours before Aziraphale regained conscious control of his own muscles again, but it was a good sign that his automatic reflexes were unaffected. He gently slid Aziraphale’s socks back on again so his feet didn’t get cold, but left the shoes off so he’d be more comfortable. He snapped off the jacket and waistcoat with a miracle and hung them up in the wardrobe, then manually undid the bowtie, folded it, and placed it on the bedside table. He next rolled Aziraphale onto his other side for a while. He stroked that beautiful pale hair fondly, marvelling at its softness, then gave the angel’s hand a gentle reassuring squeeze and sighed. He stretched again and returned to his seat to carry on reading. Every now and then he made more notes in the notebook.

* * *

After another couple of hours, Crowley’s predatory-based vision was attracted by a flicker of movement on the bed. He honed in on it immediately and waited for it to repeat. A few seconds later it did - Aziraphale’s fingers twitched slightly. He smiled and sat back to watch, setting the book aside for a moment. Another few twitches, and his eyelids flickered as if dreaming, but then nothing else. Crowley took up the book again and carried on. 

Coming to the end of that tome, he flicked through his notebook, the notes he’d made there wouldn’t be legible to any human, and that was on purpose. This kind of information was not what he’d want to fall into the wrong hands, and he fully intended to burn the lot once this was over anyway. He crossed out a few things, underlined a few others, and tapped the pen against his teeth thoughtfully. 

He looked up at the prone angel and squinted, slipping his field of vision into the ethereal to perceive Aziraphale’s aura. Usually a bright cheerful gold, it was now a subdued copper, swirling with dark red, black on the edges, curling like smoke around his body, concentrating especially around his hips and head. 

Crowley stood and walked over to the bed again, reaching out to caress the invisible aura hovering at the edges of the angel’s body, but this wasn’t his area of expertise. Aziraphale was arguably better at this kind of thing. He could see the aura curling around his fingers, and some of the dark red was attracted to him, clutching at his own aura greedily and trying to draw him in. He drew his hand back in disgust. Whatever demonic curse this was felt vile against his own aura. He shivered and withdrew his senses from the ethereal plane so he wouldn’t have to feel it or look at it. 

He noticed Aziraphale’s fingers twitching again, and reached out to take the angel’s hand gently in his own. He knelt by the bed and ran his other hand through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Aziraphale? Angel? Wake up. It’s me, Crowley. You’re safe. Wake up.”

Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered and his head moved microscopically as if to nuzzle up into Crowley’s touch. Still not worn off enough. The demon gave his hand another squeeze and let go, then stood, stretched again and went to get a coffee in the kitchen. He also brought a carton of orange juice, a cup and a straw back to the bedroom with him. He set the other bits on the bedside table for now and took his coffee to his chair to drink while he gazed out at the city skyline from the window. Darkness had fallen and the lights were beginning to twinkle. He waved his free hand to summon dim lighting in the room and lounged back. It was a waiting game. While he really wanted to nap, he didn’t dare. He needed Aziraphale to wake up, and then they had to talk. 

About an hour later, a quiet moan from the bed made Crowley turn in his seat to watch. Aziraphale’s brow was furrowed and he was twitching a bit. Crowley stood and approached the bed again. “Aziraphale?” He asked gently. The angel’s eyes opened and he squinted up at Crowley, trying to focus on him. “You’re ok, Aziraphale, you’re safe at my flat. You’ve been hit by a curse but I’m going to work out how to lift it. You’re restrained at the moment for your own safety.”

Aziraphale looked utterly confused and tried to move weakly. He tried to speak but only a dry croak escaped. Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, decanted some orange into the cup along with the flexi straw, bent it down and held the straw to Aziraphale’s lips for him to drink. “Here, this’ll help, it’ll give you a bit of energy too.” He held the cup steady as the angel sipped, then released the straw with a slight nod of thanks. 

“C’nt m’ve,” Aziraphale mumbled weakly. Crowley took his hand again and squeezed it. 

“I know, I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I had to do that, you have a curse on you, a lust curse, you tried to throw yourself at me. You’re strong, Angel. I had to bite you, the venom has a temporary paralytic effect, it takes several hours to wear off. You’ve been asleep for a while and it’s beginning to wear off now. Do you want to change position? I can roll you over again if you need.”

Aziraphale still looked very befuddled but nodded slightly. Crowley stood and rolled him onto his back, dragging a pillow under his head and straightening his limbs gently. “That ok?” Aziraphale gave another minute nod, then whispered something. 

“Cr’wly..”

The demon sat on the edge of the bed again and came closer. “I’m here.” He took Aziraphale’s hand again to reassure him, and felt the angel grip his hand stronger than he’d expect, trying to draw him closer, and trying to say something else. He bent forward. 

“Kss…” Aziraphale hissed quietly. Crowley looked quizzical. 

“Kss mmuh.”

“Christ, Aziraphale. No. I’m not going to kiss you. Look at the state you’re in. You’re cursed, mostly paralysed and incoherent for fuck’s sake.” 

“Please, Cr’wly… love you…”

The word twisted a knife in Crowley’s heart. He’d wanted to hear those words from Aziraphale’s lips for so long, wished for it with every beat of the charred remains of his heart. It was bad enough when he’d said it earlier today, but here he was saying it again, because of that  _ fucking  _ curse. Crowley wrested his hand from the angel’s with a snarl and stood up, his expression cold. 

“No. You don’t. Get more rest. I’ll leave the door open if you need me but I’ll be in the other room for a bit.” He turned on his heel and left the room. He couldn’t stay there a moment longer. He slouched down in his throne and balled his fists up in his eyes in an attempt to stem the burning tears that welled up there. 


	5. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale regains his senses, still in the iron grip of the curse and wanting Crowely so much it hurts. Unfortunately he's also hurting Crowley, who begins to fall apart with the stress, but tries to hold it together for his angel.
> 
> Aziraphale's frustration boils over.

Aziraphale was beginning to regain control of his corporation again. His neck was a bit sore on one side. He lay on his back in a strange bed, staring at the grey concrete ceiling. He was in Crowley’s flat, he knew that. Crowley had told him he was cursed, had been bitten, was restrained…

He lifted one hand weakly and started incredulously at the steel shackle around it, and the clink of the chain that draped off the edge of the bed. He raised a knee and flexed his foot, feeling another there, all four limbs restrained on long chains that at least left him free to roll around if he needed, but presumably not really to get off the bed. He needed Crowley. 

The angel drew a breath and took in all the comforting scents he associated with the demon, the fresh warm earthy scent of the plant room presumably nearby, the warm smoky leathery spiciness and musk of Crowley himself with a slight whisky edge. Aziraphale’s body began to respond to the thought and he felt himself hardening. He  _ really  _ needed Crowley. 

He tried to get his hand to his crotch, but it stopped just short. He let out a frustrated whimper. He tried to snap to divest himself of the annoying metalwork, but nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. He tried to miracle something else, just a ball of light, but grew increasingly fearful when he couldn’t draw any power at all. He began to panic. 

“CROWLEY!” He screamed desperately. 

Crowley reappeared in the doorway after a second, the area around his eyes was puffy and the whites of his eyes were reddened around the edges. He looked haggard. He composed his features first before opening his mouth, evidently biting back what he wanted to say first. 

“I’m here, Aziraphale. Are you ok?” His face carefully neutral. 

“I can’t use my power Crowley, what’s happened? I can’t do miracles!” He was growing more frantic by the second. Crowley’s features twisted then sank into a tormented sympathy and he stepped toward the bed. 

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I had to restrain you to keep you safe. I couldn’t just use any regular restraints or you’d just miracle yourself out of them straight away, or break them. I had to put some demonic sigils on them to block your powers for a while. You still have them, you just can’t use them while you’re chained. I’m sorry but I don’t know how else to do it. If I had any alternative I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Why can’t you let me go?”

“Because you’ve been hit with a lust curse, Aziraphale, I told you,” he repeated patiently. “If I just miracled myself away I don’t know if you’d then turn on innocent humans. I don’t know how to break the curse yet but I’m working on it. I’ll sort it out somehow or other, but if I let you go you’ll just throw yourself at me again and I can’t let you do that to yourself. In your right mind you’d never want to do that, I’m protecting you from your own actions, Angel.”

Aziraphale reached out his hand, a pleading look on his face. Crowley relented and took his hand, then before he knew what was happening, Aziraphale was trying to shove Crowley’s hand to his crotch with a needy whine and twitch of his hips. Crowley yanked his hand back in alarm. 

“NO! Aziraphale, I’m not going to touch you there, you don’t want this. The real you wouldn’t want this.” He stood up and ran his hands through his hair distractedly, chewing on his lip. “I’m going to give you some water, and some food, I need you to behave, ok? Then we need to talk.”

“The humans are safe Crowley, I passed plenty on my way here. I only need you. Only ever you, Crowley, can’t you see that?”

Crowley stared at him impassively.

“D’you want something to drink or not?”

“I want  _ you _ , Crowley, I love you…”

Crowley stared at him a moment longer then shook his head. 

“I can’t do this.”

He turned and left again, slamming the door behind him this time. Aziraphale still heard the strangled sob that he let out a second later however. 

* * *

Crowley stormed to his own bedroom and flung himself face down on the bed, sobbing incoherently. He couldn’t put into words exactly why Aziraphale’s confession hurt him so deeply, each time he said it was like ripping Crowley’s heart in two or stabbing him in the gut. Aziraphale had spent millennia around him and never once uttered those words, the fact that he was only doing it now because he was under the influence of a curse and trying to manipulate Crowley made it hurt even more. If it were really true he’d have said it before. 

He needed to talk to Aziraphale because he suspected that the angel knew more about the lifting of curses than he did. His own books only went so far, and if anyone would have the very specific books that could tell him more, it was Aziraphale. Short of going to the shop and spending possibly weeks trying to track them down, he didn’t know how else he’d find them without the angel’s cooperation. He didn’t want to leave Aziraphale chained up alone for however long it took to sort through the chaos of the shelves and stacks in the enormous shop, or any of the overflow stacks in the cellars and upper rooms. No doubt any occult books would be well hidden apart from the rest anyway. Dragging a chained bookseller through the streets with him also didn’t bear thinking about. 

He needed to get Aziraphale lucid enough to talk without trying to seduce him, to cooperate and tell him where the books were that had the information they’d need to break the curse. It didn’t help that every time the angel interacted with him like that it left Crowley achingly hard as well and desperate to relent. He was trying like hell to maintain his composure and not crack and cave in. He knew he couldn’t. Aziraphale couldn’t consent like this. It was the curse using Aziraphale’s body to hurt him. For all Crowley knew, the angel was inside there somewhere screaming in terror and unable to articulate his real thoughts. 

Crowley was also regretting the unfortunately  _ only  _ choice he’d had to chain up Aziraphale in that room in particular (although it was the only one with tie down points by design) and having to use articles that he’d previously used for more erotic purposes. Both those facts meant that that room and those items were inevitably entwined in his brain with lustful thoughts of his own, memories of what he’d got up to himself in there. Either on his own or with some hookup he’d found online as a willing partner for a one night stand of no-strings kinks. 

Separating that room and those chains from their previous use in his head was damn near impossible. The amount of times he’d fantasised about Aziraphale chaining him to that bed, or to chain a willing Aziraphale there didn’t bear thinking about. But unfortunately, he couldn’t  _ not  _ think about it, and it really wasn’t helping things at all. 

He needed some release, he was going mad with frustration of his own. He could only imagine how much worse it was for Aziraphale. He shoved his hand down between the bed beneath him and his crotch, feeling the insistent hardness through the constricting material of his tight jeans, and rutted down into his hand with a groan. 

His tears had abated, and now all his body wanted was some form of relief from the tension. He rolled over and unbuckled his belt with impatient hands, rough and frantic. He yanked his jeans and underwear down in one harsh movement and palmed at his cock with a satisfied hiss. Crowley wrapped his long fingers around the girth of it and began to pull in long, even strokes. He closed his eyes tight and tried to banish the vision of Aziraphale chained up only two rooms away, helpless and demanding. He sought in his head and desperately tried to find an alternative fantasy to get off to, trying to remember some of the more memorable fucks he’d enjoyed over the years, but none came to mind. 

Because even during those, all he’d ever thought about to get himself off was Aziraphale. No one else could do it for him. He’d never climax with anyone unless he first shut his eyes and fantasized about the angel. Thinking about the humans just didn’t help. He relented and tried to think of Aziraphale instead in another situation, not chained to his bed. Something soft and sweet and gentle. Something fucking consensual. 

His hand moved faster, tight and punishing as he grimaced and rapidly flicked through various visions in his mind, rejecting some in turn and frantically fishing for the next before alighting on imagined moments that worked, hating himself all the while, trying not to think of the fact that the object of his base desires was in the same flat and fucking wanting him right now. He shoved that thought away again furiously, sobbing and chasing his climax, disgust and self hatred apparently enough to finish the job. He tensed and jerked as his cock spat out a few pulses of come over his hand and chest, then slowly uncoiled, breathing hard. 

He glared down at the evidence of his depravity, repulsed by his own actions. His hand slick with the dripping remains. It made him want to do something to punish himself. He didn’t deserve to get off like this, he didn’t deserve any pleasure while Aziraphale was tormented and trapped and relying on him to fucking  _ help _ . Not to jerk off and procrastinate over taking some bloody action to resolve this shitstorm.

Sickened by himself, he wiped the filth from his hand on his already soiled shirt, then yanked his jeans the rest of the way off and stalked to the bathroom, peeling off his shirt as he went and flinging it aside. He turned the shower on as hot as it would go - far hotter than any human could stand without suffering burns, and stepped under the scalding spray to scrub himself clean, grateful for the noise of the water to conceal his renewed sobs as he cried and dug his fingernails into his arms so hard it broke the skin.

* * *

Aziraphale had heard another door slam, presumably Crowley’s bedroom, then nothing more for a while. His body was driving him to distraction, the deep down ache pure torture. He rolled to one side, curling up as much as he could before he realised something. With the slackness of the chains, if he shuffled all the way over to one side of the large bed to draw the chains tight on one side, it left enough slack in the chains on the other to be able to touch himself all over if he needed. 

Grateful for the revelation, he desperately shoved his trousers down and moaned out in utter pleasure as his hand finally found his engorged cock. It wasn’t what he truly needed, but it was something at least. Aziraphale stroked his hungry cock, whispering Crowley’s name over and over. Imagining the demon’s mouth around him, that long tongue caressing him, skilled fingers maybe delving into his arse, or wrapped around his shaft as well - all his visions melded into each other in a dizzying cavalcade of depravity. 

He wondered if he should just start shouting out the demon’s name, maybe it’d call him back in here and when he saw just what he did to Aziraphale he might relent and join in after all…

… Or he might be angry. 

Aziraphale was tormented, and desperate, afraid and hurting. He needed Crowley, it felt like he needed him more than he needed air right now, which was probably true. He didn’t think he could exist without the demon’s touch. Even if Crowley didn’t love him back, he’d take anything, let Crowley use him as his own personal fuck toy if that’s what he wanted. He’d be happy just to stay here, chained up to be used at the demon’s leisure, just a repository for his come, just a convenient hole to fuck. The filthy thoughts whirled around his head and fed the dark swirling monster lurking in his aura, leeching off his soul. The images, the words pushing him closer and closer to orgasm. He wondered if Crowley would want him to come down his throat, or better still, if Crowley would want to come down Aziraphale’s throat. 

Oh god, what would he taste like? Aziraphale could almost feel the weight of the demon’s cock on his tongue, it’d be long, and thick, so huge he wouldn’t be able to even take it all down, but Crowley would fuck his face, force it down his throat until he choked on it, make him take it all. He moaned indecently at the thought, fist moving faster. He wanted to be used, needed to be fucked, in every way possible, made to take it all until he couldn’t even think any more. He needed Crowley. 

He whimpered out his name again and again, something about the rattling of the chains adding an extra frisson to the whole experience. He liked it. He came explosively, striping his own shirt with come and not even caring about it, forgetting he couldn’t even miracle the mess away, but not wanting to either. He wanted Crowley to see, to see what he did to him, to show Crowley what a depraved little being he was, made to take whatever he wanted. Maybe that’s what Crowley wanted. Not love, just something to play with.

He lay back, breathless, and stared at the ceiling. He heard water pipes making a noise and a shower start up. The wank had taken the edge off, but not by much. He still wanted more. And now he was imagining Crowley in the shower, naked and wet. Aziraphale’s arm moved lower again and took his still oversensitive prick in hand once more, unable to resist. 


	6. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to come up with a plan of action, becomes more upset by Aziraphale's behaviour and struggles to keep it together. Eventually he can't cope any more and heads out to try to find a way to help his angel get better. (Sorry, there's definitely feels in this chapter, angstiest line so far as well.) 
> 
> He knows that if anywhere will have books with the esoteric knowledge he's seeking, it'll be Aziraphale's shop. Unfortunately they're not going to be easy to find. On the plus side, Crowley doesn't just have demonic skills to fall back on, _he_ was an angel once...

Crowley’s skin was red and raw from the scrubbing and intense heat. He shut the shower off and slicked his hair back, stepping from the shower he grabbed a fluffy black towel to wrap around himself and another to rub at his hair. He stalked back through to the bedroom and flung himself back on the bed again, glaring at the ceiling. He had to get his shit together.

Aziraphale was trapped inside his own body, he had decided, and couldn’t communicate what he really wanted. The curse had control of his higher functions and speech, obviously, and was trying to use that to seduce Crowley to take advantage of the angel. Given that Aziraphale couldn’t communicate his real needs, Crowley would have to anticipate them. He’d surely be hungry by now, or at least thirsty. Angels might not need to eat or drink, but it had become a habit that Aziraphale had grown used to. He deserved some common courtesy at the very least. 

Crowley finished drying off and flung on some fresh clothing, steeled himself, and made his way back to the second bedroom again. He paused outside the door. He had to treat Aziraphale as if he could hear him, given that he didn’t know that either. He needed to speak to the Aziraphale trapped inside there. He deserved at least some politeness. He knocked on the door and waited for the angel to reply before entering. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley…” the angel’s voice was relieved and soft. Crowley opened the door and took in the scene. He recoiled slightly, aghast at what the damned curse had done to his friend. Aziraphale was lying on the bed, trousers and underwear shoved down to his knees, cock on display, somewhere between hard and soft, although whether rising or abating Crowley didn’t know and didn’t want to know. His pale blue shirt was streaked with white. 

Crowley wanted to cry. 

“Aziraphale…” he choked out, not sure what to say. “What have you done to yourself?” He remembered that the angel couldn’t miracle the mess away, so did it himself with a snap, putting him back to rights, restoring his clothing to its proper position again. He had to keep professional about this. He tried to ignore what he’d just seen even though his own cock was trying to harden again in his jeans. He snarled at it internally. Keeping his own face on the sympathetic side of neutral, he came round to the side of the bed and poured out some more orange juice. 

He knelt and offered the straw to Aziraphale, who reached up to grab at his wrist desperately. Crowley allowed it but ignored it at the same time, bringing the straw to his lips. “Drink.” He ordered, firmly. Aziraphale complied, his eyes filled with adoration. Crowley looked away. He heard the angel finish the cup and refilled it. “More?” A nod. He brought the straw back to his lips again until Aziraphale pushed it away. 

Setting the cup on the bedside table he refilled it and nudged it closer to the bed. “You’ll be able to reach it from here now, it looks like you’ve regained full movement again, anyway,” he remarked sourly. Crowley then looked over the bowl of fruit he’d brought in earlier. “What d’you want to eat? Got a nectarine, peach, plum, pear, apple, tangerine and some grapes.”

“You.” Aziraphale said. 

Crowlely ignored him and repeated the question. 

“You.” Aziraphale repeated. 

“Shut up.” Crowley snapped. “It’s not funny. You’re getting a nectarine. I can order in some savoury stuff in a bit as well, if you won’t tell me what you want I’ll just get some Chinese or something I know you normally like. Now, d’you need me to feed you the damn fruit or can you do that yourself?”

He regretted offering Aziraphale the option immediately when the angel gave him a pleading look. “Feed me?” he begged pitifully. Crowley couldn’t very well decline now as he’d made the offer. With bad grace but infinite patience, he held the nectarine to Aziraphale’s lips and turned it slowly as he bit the soft flesh from around the stone in the centre, juice running down his chin. Crowley’s cock twitched in his jeans at the sight and he ground his teeth then bit his cheek to recentre himself. 

He tossed the stone in the rubbish bin in the corner and stood stiffly. He didn’t care that Aziraphale could see the swelling in his jeans at this point, it’s not like it made much difference anyhow. Aziraphale grabbed for his hand again, not letting Crowley retreat. His face was desperate. 

“You don’t need to love me, Crowley, just use me. I’ll stay here, I’ll be good for you, just yours, you can do what you want with me. I don’t even mind being chained up, I like it. Do what you want.”

Crowley was disgusted at the curse making Aziraphale utter such vile words. He snarled and yanked his hand away viciously. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed dangerously. Aziraphale reached for him again but he recoiled out of the way. 

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, miracle me any genitalia you want…”

“SHUT UP!” Screamed Crowley, tears overflowing down his face again. “Stop fucking using him like this, just fucking shut up, shut up, _shut up,_ SHUT UP!” 

“Please, Crowley…,” Aziraphale whined.

“NO!” He thundered. “I’m LEAVING, Aziraphale. I’m going to find out how the fuck to deal with this. You’ve got food, you’ve got water. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He got to the door and paused, turning to face the angel again. “Do what the fuck you want to yourself but leave me out of it,” he hissed, then slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Crowley yanked his boots on and charged out of the flat in a whirlwind of fury. It was clear he wasn’t going to get any sense out of Aziraphale, so he had no option but to go to the bookshop and start looking for what he needed. He didn’t doubt that the angel would _have_ what he needed, he just didn’t know how well it was going to be hidden. 

He glanced at his watch. He’d lost track of time completely and it was now nearly 5am. Aziraphale had come around sometime in the mid morning, definitely before lunchtime, how many hours was that? He couldn’t even think straight. He couldn’t even tell if the curse was time related, if it was getting better or worse, or just staying stable. 

So far all he’d been able to discern was to confirm it was indeed demonic, didn’t appear to be fatal, thank _someone_ , and… not much else. He didn’t even know if it was a spoken curse, potion, linked to an artefact or circle somewhere that had to be broken to release the hold. There were too many possibilities. He growled under his breath as he walked, wondering how on earth he’d explain this if challenged.

_‘What am I doing stalking the streets of Soho at 5am on a weeknight? Oh, just got an innocent angel chained up in my fucking sex dungeon and now I’m going to break into his home and steal some books, the usual, y’know…’_

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. He was nearly there. He didn’t actually have to break into the bookshop, he waved a hand at the door and it unlocked obediently. Any wards the angel had up on the front door had always specifically excluded Crowley from the list of beings denied entry. He locked the door behind him and pulled the blinds before turning the lights on and wondering where to start. 

Nowhere on the shelves in the front of the shop, that was for sure. Aziraphale wouldn’t leave books on demonology lying around where humans could stumble upon them. He went through to the office area and began to look there. Again, not likely that he’d have something so potentially dangerous in this area either. He cast his gaze around. The safe? No, too small, but he didn’t discount it entirely. There might be one or two smaller books in there, but what he was looking for was likely going to be in some big dusty old tome. 

Then his attention was caught by something different - a decorated cardboard box sitting on the counter next to the till. The type you’d get from a patisserie. He flipped the lid open and recoiled immediately at the slick oily feel of demonic activity that tainted it. He picked up a pen and used it to nudge the lid fully open. Inside were a couple of pastries and some empty paper cases. A card attached by ribbon to the box just read “C.” 

Crowley growled deep in his chest, seething anger roiling up through his corporation. A base fucking trick to play on an innocent angel. Some fucker knew Aziraphale’s weakness, no, weakness _es_ \- not just the damn food, but the implication that it had come from Crowley, giving him no reason to distrust it. He’d have simply put the demonic tinge on the box down to it having been a gift from him. Bastards. 

He sniffed cautiously at one of the remaining pastries. The occult stench was likely not discernible to any regular humanoid nose such as Aziraphale had, only Crowley’s superior sense of smell and taste could pick it out. So there was one part of the puzzle anyway - edible curse, likely a potion. That made it somewhat easier then. No circle or item to track down and break.  
  
If it was a potion there was even the possibility that it might wear off on it’s own, although he doubted they’d be that lucky. He considered the box for a moment. He wondered if he could use it to trace the perpetrator somehow. He considered the remaining poisoned pastries inside. Retreating to the small kitchenette he returned with a small baking tray and a spatula. He carefully lifted the pastries from the box without touching them with his fingers, and placed them in the tray. He carried them through to the kitchen, placed them on the stove top, opened the window, then lit up the contents of the tray in hellfire to destroy them utterly. He then rinsed the ashes down the sink and washed up the tray and spatula carefully. 

The empty box might come in handy later to track down the perpetrator. He picked it up and miracled it into a pocket dimension to keep it safe for now. 

Crowley headed upstairs next, scoping out the rooms in the small flat up there. There was a dusty lounge that didn’t look like it had been decorated since the place was built, a kitchen a little bigger than the small kitchenette downstairs, which also looked rarely used, a small dining room whose ornate regency era dining table was almost collapsing under the weight of piles of books covering it. Other than that there was a bathroom, scrupulously clean, every tile shining, and surprisingly no books to be seen. Then there were two bedrooms, one was wall to wall, floor to ceiling books, the other not quite as bad. There was a bed in the centre which was at least clear of books, save one, laid on the pillow with a bookmark in it. He guessed Aziraphale at least occasionally used this room to relax and read. The thought of him sitting there so relaxed and innocent sent another painful pang through his heart. 

Crowley sighed and decided to start here. He cast about for the oldest looking books, setting them on the bed, then rummaged underneath the bed for any others that might have been hidden there. He hauled out a few likely looking ones and began to skim through them frantically. 

* * *

Aziraphale was distraught. He hadn’t been prepared for quite how much it would hurt when Crowley left his immediate proximity. He hadn’t realised just how much simply being near the demon had been helping. When Crowley was close, he had hope, hope of putting an end to the frustration boiling away inside him. But now he could feel the emptiness of the flat and the curse was driving him slowly insane. 

He could feel the wards that Crowley had placed on his home not just to keep danger away when Crowley was here normally, but new ones placed especially to protect Aziraphale from harm. There was loving tenderness built into the power there and it made him want to cry. Crowley had been rejecting him and speaking such harsh words, at odds with what his body had been saying, and at odds with how lovingly he had been caring for Aziraphale. Surely Crowley truly did want him, so why was he saying no? Couldn’t he see how long Aziraphale had loved him? 

He’d tried just launching himself at Crowley, he’d tried confessing his love, he’d even offered himself up as a thing, as a possession, in case that’s what the demon wanted, but each attempt just seemed to make him angrier. He’d gone from sitting in the room with him, to sitting outside with the door open, to shutting himself away in his own room, and now he’d left the place altogether. Aziraphale worried about when or if the demon would return, and what his response might be to the next plea from the angel. Might he leave the country altogether? Go somewhere else and have another hundred year nap like some redheaded sleeping beauty, leaving Aziraphale here in torment the entire time? 

The angel writhed on the sheets, growing ever more frustrated. He needed a release again, but if Crowley came back and found he’d made a mess he’d be even more disgusted than he was before. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Not being able to temporarily dampen the screaming desire ripping his mind to shreds, or the disgust on Crowley’s face when he saw what he’d done. He began to cry tears of frustration and screamed at the ceiling.

* * *

Crowley was getting nowhere. The only thing stopping him from flinging the useless books through the nearest window in rage was the thought of how hurt Aziraphale would be to find he’d mishandled them. He gave up on the upstairs, and decided to see what the cellars held. 

He made his way to the ground floor again and then to the cellar door. He’d been down there once or twice to retrieve a bottle of wine for them both while the angel was busy, he’d glimpsed the other rooms down there aside from the wine cellar and cold room with its marble slab which was the primitive equivalent to a fridge. There was the coal hole, which in years gone by had been filled from a small metal manhole in the pavement on the street outside, too small to admit any human, just big enough to pour the coal down. None of that had been used since the 1950s of course when coal and log fires had been outlawed in London. There were still some remnants of coal piled up in there from the last load that had been delivered all those years ago.

He quickly poked around the wine cellar first, but it was as he remembered it, nothing but bottles and crates down there, so he moved on. There was the old, original kitchen down here, not that it looked much like one. Just a hulking old cast iron range in the fireplace, a copper in the corner, a large stone sink, a lead lined butler’s sink so as not to scratch the silverware when it was washed, an obsolete water pump and a huge old oak table in the middle of the room. Piled high, of course, with boxes of books.  
  
There was also the adjoining scullery, small pantry, both again filled to the ceiling with books, and a sluice room for the chamber pots, barely larger than a toilet cubicle would be, which was filled with mops and brushes. He hadn’t been round this side before, he’d only ever needed to go as far as the wine cellar, and now he was by the back of the stairs, and saw what was there. A full door sized walk in safe nestled under the stairs. 

Well, this was the most likely place to start then. The thing was ancient, and this was exactly the kind of nefarious activity that Crowley had centuries of experience in. Breaking and entering, safecracking… he was an expert, and this old thing should be a doddle. He spread his hands out over the cold metal, painted dark green with gold pinstriping and the maker’s name picked out in elaborate heraldic designs. He felt for any angelic wards on the safe and found nothing. It was mundane, perfectly normal. Which might not bode well, as whatever was in it was probably not anything Aizraphale thought worth protecting too well, but it was worth a look anyway.

Crowley snapped to summon his familiar lockpick set to his hands and selected a tool by familiarity of feel alone based on years of experience. This wasn’t a combination lock like modern ones, but an old double key job. Simple. Didn’t even need to peel the case which was a long-winded bastard of a job. He worked swiftly with deft fingers and careful ear, a light touch, a bit of sustained pressure at the top of the keyway, feel a bit more, feel it drop, a bit further forward, feel for the next one, gentle jiggle, feel that one drop, repeat, keeping the pressure constant at the top the whole way along. 

Then suddenly the whole barrel was free and rotated. Time for the next one. It was just as easy and in under a minute he was in. Way easier than a modern safe. He turned the lever and swung the huge door open. 

The tiny room had shelves on three walls. No bigger than a small pantry, probably smaller than a toilet cubicle. The shelves held silverware and trinkets in boxes accrued over the years. He saw a few piles of ancient coins and notes of currencies from around the world. There were even ancient ornate tins holding once rare spices, now commonplace in any supermarket, but once worth their weight in gold. Long forgotten, flavours long since evaporated. 

There were indeed a few books, and he studied them carefully. Only one looked like it could have anything useful in it, he took it and set the rest back on the shelves and shut the safe again. There had to be more, more than just this. The real stuff, the ancient stuff. Where would it be? He cast about aimlessly, before realising that the really powerful books might give off a demonic vibe of their own. 

Crowley stilled, shut his eyes and reached out on the ethereal plane, extending his senses to feel for any disruption in the flow of energy around him. He could feel it faintly at first, and turned toward the occult scent, for want of a better way to describe it. There was a word in Enochian for it, but it didn’t translate into English, or indeed any earthly language sufficiently. He opened his eyes and followed his senses. 

The feeling grew stronger as he passed the door to the coal store, and he turned to peer in there again. Just a drift of old coal in a pile at the back of the blackened room. Surely Aziraphale wouldn’t keep a book in this filth? But then… if it was a foul, tainted book in the first place, and a dangerous one that he wanted to keep in the last place anyone would expect… 

Crowley left the book from the safe in the passage and stepped forward. The occult sensation was coming from the floor, underneath the pile of coal. With a sigh he grabbed a shovel leaning against the wall and began to dig. He fell to his knees and began brushing coal dust aside, then grimaced and snapped one of the brooms from the sluice closet, then swept the patch of floor properly. There was a hatch there. It was a stone flagged floor so the hatch was actually a flagstone with an iron ring recessed into it. It looked extremely heavy, and as if it hadn’t been opened in decades, possibly longer. 

Crowley laid his hands over it and felt the angelic wards lingering there, protecting it. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to bypass them, or how badly they might react to him, but there was only one way to find out. He grabbed the corroded old iron ring in the flagstone and began to haul at it, sinews straining and muscles burning with the effort. 

The wards seemed to detect his effort and struck out in defence. There was a zap of celestial power and Crowley was flung across the room, slamming heavily against the wall next to the door, cracking his head on the brickwork there. It felt like he’d just been tasered. So… less than lethal force at least. His hands were throbbing as if they’d been burnt. So he’d have to placate the wards somehow to bypass them. Each type had a different method, he’d come across a few in his time, and he did know some that Aziraphale tended to use. 

Fortunately, unlike other demons, Crowley knew that he still technically had access to celestial power. No one else had ever tried to draw it down from the heavens, either assuming that it wasn’t possible, or not having any interest in doing so. After all, why _would_ a demon want to use celestial power anyway? It was only for good deeds. Crowley had found out when he was planning the Arrangement. It was how he’d been able to help Aziraphale with blessings and heavenly miracles over the centuries. 

It was rather akin to having been fired from your workplace but them forgetting to cancel your IT logins or your access pass. He didn’t work there anymore, but he could still access the network. Other demons probably could if they tried as well, but no one other than him ever had. He wondered if heaven was even aware of the backdoor available to him. Maybe they didn’t care. What did it matter if a demon retained the ability to do good deeds? It wasn’t as if they ever _would_ after all. It just never occurred to anyone. 

Anyone except Crowley…

He grinned. 

He’d come up against Aziraphale’s wards before, and while bored, for the hell of it, had bypassed one or two. He hoped this one would be as straightforward. He approached the slab again and laid his hands out over it, feeling for the mechanics of the spell much as he’d felt for the tumblers of the lock of the safe. He could get the shape of it in his mind and tried a tentative gentle hum. The ward settled from its watchful state at the soothing sound. Crowley smiled to himself. 

He was glad that Aziraphale wasn’t here to see this. It was something intensely private that no one, at least presumably no one except the Almighty herself, knew about Crowley. He spread his hands out over the stone and began to sing. 

Seraphim were known for their singing, their voices so beautiful it would make any mortal weep to hear. Originally designed to sing the praises of the Almighty. Not that Crowley was doing anything of the sort, his song was ancient, but he wouldn’t lower himself to praising the being that had cast him out from heaven. But he drew upon the heavenly power he used to use, and let his voice, his ancient angelic voice, sing out. The melody curled out around the room and sank into the flagstone, subduing the ward, relaxing its hidden sigils, straightening out the jagged teeth of it’s bite. 

Crowley carried on, his voice high, beautiful and ancient. On the surrounding streets, as dawn broke, humans who could hear it, however faintly, smiled as a warm comforting glow suffused their bodies and invisible blessings flowed out from the bookshop cellar. Pain was soothed, fatigue eased, fear diminished, worries erased, anger evaporated, and calm overlaid Soho like a comforting blanket. 

In the cellar, the angelic ward melted and gave up entirely. Crowley’s voice stilled and he let go of the thread of angelic power he’d been drawing down from above to bolster his song, with a brief pang of regret. It had almost felt good. The only exception being the agonising burning sensation at his back where his wings were. At least, the four spots below where his _remaining_ wings were. They still hurt, especially when he did anything even remotely angelic. 

He hauled at the iron ring again. This time it was pure physical effort, there was no angelic resistance. It was heavy, and damned difficult to shift, but with a grunt and a lot of straining he managed to lift it. He dared not use any demonic power to boost his strength, for fear that it would re-awaken the ward and shut him out once more. 

The flagstone lifted and he hefted it aside. Below was a heavy wooden chest bound with brass strips. Crowley hauled it out with difficulty. The lock was mundane, and he picked it in a few minutes. Weirdly it was more difficult than the safe had been, but still well within his capabilities. Inside were several books, all of them related to demonic lore. They were exactly what he was looking for. He carried them upstairs to Aziraphale’s study, picking up the other one from the under stairs safe as he went, and sat down with pen and paper to begin reading.


	7. Unpleasant necessities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: bodily fluids, insect-like demon, minor character death, violence
> 
> Crowley returns to his flat and cares for Aziraphale. He now knows what he needs to break the curse, but it is not going to be easy, or pleasant. Aziraphale tries to encourage him to take the easier option, but Crowley refuses. Besides, he wants vengeance on whoever did this to his best friend. 
> 
> Aziraphale is still desperate for Crowley, and his words continue to hurt the demon. Crowley needs to do something risky, but needs to set an insurance policy in place for Aziraphale in case it goes wrong.

Crowley was exhausted. He may not _need_ sleep, but fuck it all, he _wanted_ it. The emotional stress of the past however many bloody hours had fatigued him to the bone, and he was nowhere near done yet. He looked over his pages and pages of notes from the stack of books next to him. He then glanced at his watch and his eyes widened in horror. He’d left Aziraphale alone for _twelve fucking hours._ It was already 5pm. He swore and looked at the stack of books next to him. He snapped to deliver them to the desk in his study, but shoved the notebook in his jacket pocket. 

He strode from the bookshop, snapping to lock the door behind him as he left, and made his way to the chinese takeaway on route back home to pick something up for Aziraphale. While he sat and waited for his order to be put together, he flipped through his notebook and made more edits. He was not happy with what he’d found thus far. It wasn’t going to be easy. He pulled a face of sheer revulsion at one aspect in particular, and shuddered. He wondered how the hell he was supposed to achieve that part, but then realised that Aziraphale had almost certainly already taken care of it for him, distasteful as it was. 

His name being called snapped him back to reality and he stood, grabbed the steaming bag of food and carried on homeward. He’d feed Aziraphale, make sure he was comfortable, then he’d have to set about on the next phase of getting the curse broken. He stepped into the flat and the scent on the air he tasted with his tongue told him that his suspicion was correct. He bit his lip and willed himself not to tear up again at what the fucking curse was doing to his angel. 

He set the food aside on the kitchen counter to start with, then fished out a small glass bottle from a cabinet, and made his way to Aziraphale’s room reluctantly, the scent growing stronger as he approached. He had to detach, he had to be professional about this. _Pretend you’re a fucking nurse or something. You can_ **_do_ ** _this, Crowley._

Crowley knocked on the door and heard Aziraphale’s delighted “Crowley” from within. He entered, knowing already what he’d find. Yet again the angel’s trousers and underwear were shoved down, he’d undone his shirt this time but his middle was streaked with the evidence of his exertions. His face was a curious mingled expression of shame, fear, desire, and lust. 

The demon took a breath and steeled himself before walking toward the bed. He sat on the bed and ignored Aziraphale’s hand grabbing at his thigh. He remained outwardly emotionless as he drew the open end of the bottle through some of the mess on the angel’s abdomen, wiped the neck of it clean with a piece of tissue, then screwed the cap on. Next he snapped his fingers to clean up the rest of the mess and re-clothe Aziraphale once more. The angel’s expression had shifted into pure confusion at Crowley’s actions. 

“What’s that for?”

“Curse breaking,” Crowley replied shortly. He gently but firmly removed Aziraphale’s hand from his thigh, stood, and left the room. Aziraphale could hear the tap running presumably as Crowley cleaned up, then the rustle of a bag, and Crowley reappeared in the doorway carrying a tray with a few containers of food on it. 

He placed the tray on the side of the bed and handed over a napkin and pair of chopsticks to Aziraphale. Next he took the jug of water away and returned it re-filled. “Eat.” He instructed the angel as he took a seat by the window again. Aziraphale was staring at him and whining. 

“I don’t want food, Crowley, I need _you._ _Please,_ Crowley.”

“No. Shut up and eat.” He sat back and extracted his notebook again then began to leaf through it. Aziraphale realised he wasn’t going to get anything out of Crowley so he relented and began to pick at the food, gradually eating more as he got a taste for it. 

“I went to the bookshop, I found the books in the coal cellar,” Crowley commented. Aziraphale’s head shot up in surprise.

“ _How?_ I mean… how did you even get _in_ there?”

“I have my ways. They’re safe, I brought them back here with me, they’re in the study in case I need to refer to them again, but I think I’ve found what I need to know. Look at your aura, Aziraphale.”

The angel paused while dipping his dim sum and looked down at himself. His eyes unfocussed slightly then he tipped his head on one side and looked at himself wide-eyed. He shuddered and blinked then looked back at Crowley again. “I see.”

“Someone sent you poisoned pastries, pretending they were from me. It’s demonic. I destroyed the remaining ones in hellfire. You’re in luck, the curse isn’t a fatal one, it’s not a ‘fuck or die’ kind of deal thank _someone._ But it won’t leave you until you do either. And I’m not going to do that to the real angel I know is inside there somewhere. There’s another way to break it, and I’m going to do it.”

Crowley flipped a page on his notebook, read through his notes, then snapped and summoned the empty pastry box from the pocket dimension he’d hidden it in. “This is the clue I need to track down the demon who did this to you. I’m going to have to take a trip to hell to find them. When I do, first of all I’m going to make them regret the moment they decided to hurt you, and in the process of doing so, I’m going to get the next ingredient I need to break that fucking curse.”

“Which is?”  
  
“Their blood.”

“Crowley, no! I can’t let you put yourself in danger just for me. Please, Crowley, I love you, I _want_ this, I know you do as well, please just let me do something for you, just take me, it’ll be all over, I don’t mind, I _want_ you, Crowley, you don’t have to do any of that.”

 _“NO!”_ Crowley roared back. “That’s just the curse making you say that, trying to manipulate me into abusing you. I’m not doing it. You’re in there somewhere, Aziraphale, and I’m going to rescue you. Besides, I’m going to hunt down the bastard who did this anyway and make them pay, so I might as well try to break the curse using their stinking blood in the process while I’m at it.”

Even just the thought of Crowley fighting other demons for Aziraphale made the angel feel overwhelmed with desire for him, that his beautiful demon would go to such lengths to protect him, and he whined despite himself, forsaking the food he reached out to Crowley, pleading for something, despite knowing he wouldn’t get it. The lust just wouldn’t abate and he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t stop yearning. 

Crowley locked eyes with him and shook his head slowly. “No. I’m going out again, Aziraphale, but before I do, I’m going to do something. Because if I don’t make it, you’ll end up trapped here indefinitely. I’m going to add a modifier to the sigils on your manacles, so that if I die, not discorporate, but die properly, my magic will cease and you’ll be released. You’ll be on your own then. I hope you’re right about only wanting me, because if you go out and chase down a human there’s nothing I can do about it except to ask the _real_ Aziraphale, wherever he is deep inside there, to be gentle. I’m pretty sure he would be. I hope so, because I’m telling you now, if he wasn’t it’d break him.”

Aziraphale interrupted. “But Crowley I’ve only ever wanted _you_ , I can’t even fathom desiring anyone else. I _love_ you…”

Crowely gritted his teeth and drew a breath. “I don’t know if the curse is sentient, if you can understand me, but if you can, I’m asking you. Let the angel choose, let him be gentle, or he’ll destroy himself. Give him that at least.”

He stepped forward and had to use chalk for this, because there was no way he could use hellfire while the manacles were on the angel. At least this one was a modifier that neither the curse nor Aziraphale would want to try to erase, as it was an insurance policy of release should Crowley fail. He chalked the sigil over the last of each of the ones carved into the metal. A couple of times he had to peel Aziraphale’s grasping hands off him as he did it. 

That done, he set the unfinished containers on the bedside table, removed the finished ones, and returned with a selection of desserts and a couple of bottles of water to accompany the jug he’d already put there. 

“Right, I’m off.” He thought for a moment, then went and fetched a few towels from the bathroom and placed them on the bed. “Use these to clean up if you need to.” With that, Crowley left, grabbed the keys for the Bentley, and set off to Broadgate Tower. It was only a twenty minute drive, and he wasn’t sure whether he wished he could get there sooner or delay, because he had no idea how powerful the demon he was looking for might be. 

He parked up outside the gleaming office block and patted the Bentley’s dash affectionately. “Here’s hoping I make it out of this in one piece, girl. See you on the other side I hope.” With that, he miracled the empty pastry box back into his hands and ripped off a corner of the cardboard before banishing the rest of the box again. He flicked out his tongue and scented the air, re-familiarising himself with the smell, committing it to memory, then tucked the scrap of cardboard into his jacket pocket, stepped out of the car, and made his way into the building. 

Crowley alighted at the bottom of the escalator and flicked his tongue out to taste his way around. The pastry box had been left the day before, so whoever had left hell to do it had almost certainly come up this way. It was a high traffic area but he should be able to find some lingering scent around somewhere. It had been criss crossed by a multitude of other scent trails, but was distinct enough that he could discern a faint miasma that matched that on the box. He cast about until he picked up where the trail was strongest down a corridor to an exit, and followed it. 

As he made his way down the corridor another demon did a double take and stopped in her tracks to stare at Crowley. Fortunately she was a fairly junior demon, and not too powerful. “Hey, you’re the traitor…” she began. Crowley didn’t give her chance to say anything more. He snapped his fingers to immobilise her. She went blank and he stepped close to whisper in her ear, where others passing by couldn’t hear.

“You haven’t recognised me, you don’t remember who I am, you will not mention this to anyone, now fuck off.” He snapped his fingers again and walked off, leaving her looking bemused. Crowley stalked out of the building and followed the trail, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact with other denizens of hell he passed, but he underestimated how much word of his betrayal had spread. Beelzebub may have tried to cover up the failed execution with holy water, but word still got about. A claw slammed into his shoulder and he looked up, coming eye to multitude of eyes with a demon significantly larger than himself. 

The other demon had not bothered with anything so aesthetically pleasing as a humanoid corporation, they never left hell and saw no point in trying to look like anything other than what they were, which was mostly cockroach, with a side order of lobster by the looks of it, and possibly some whip scorpion thrown in for good measure. Crowley didn’t recoil, he’d seen far worse and was used to seeing other demons in their natural state. The other creature’s size however did give him pause for thought. They were at least another foot taller than Crowley, and well muscled.

“Crawly,” the other demon growled. “What the fuck are you doing showing your face down here again? I’m guessing I’d get a good bounty dragging your skinny arse in…” A sharply serrated claw closed around Crowley’s arm, digging in painfully. In this instance, a form that didn’t have the encumbrance of arms was probably a good way to sidestep the issue. Crowley transformed in the blink of an eye into his serpent form, and fast as a whip crack struck out, sinking his fangs into the other demon’s shoulder. Most of their body had a carapace or shell covering them, and he hadn’t had time to aim specifically for a less well armoured part of their exoskeleton, but Crowlely’s fangs were powerful and cracked through the chitinous layer with dagger sharp proficiency, and he hastily pumped a full dose of venom into the creature. 

He wrapped his coils around their many thrashing limbs hastily to restrain them as the venom did its work. The demon grew uncoordinated, their mandibles opened and closed spasmodically, their claws twitched, and legs gave way, rolling the pair of them in the black gritty dirt underfoot. The demon went slack, and as it was largely insectoid, rather than going floppy and relaxing outwards, its limbs began to automatically contract inward like a dying spider. 

Crowley stayed wrapped around as he felt their circulatory system slow and then stall completely, then slowly unwound, glanced about, then slithered away. He’d be safer remaining in serpent form down here, he’d be less easily recognisable. He was far from being the only serpent in hell, and although the others were rare and had different colouring to him, he hoped that he’d be less distinct than in his humanoid shape. Not many bothered with human shapes outside of the office areas anyway, so he’d only be drawing attention to himself by remaining that way. 

He slithered onward, at least his sense of smell was even more adept in this form. The scent was growing stronger, and he recognised the direction it was taking him. He was on the edge of Asmodeus’ territory, which made perfect sense given the lust curse, but he knew Asmodeus’ scent, he was one of the most senior demons in hell, everyone knew him. Crowley had worked under him before when sent on seduction assignments. The scent was not him. Given the location however, whoever it was clearly worked under Asmodeus as well. 

Whoever it was, it was getting stronger, and he could pick out the subtleties as well, it was dusty, rank and brought to mind overheated, fly-plagued herds of livestock in a desert. It put Crowley in mind of the chaos at the ark as much as anything else. He heard voices and paused, concealing his long slim form against a corner of rock as he peered around the corner to the collection of buildings ahead. 

A tall hunchbacked demon stood several feet away, talking to a lesser imp. The demon was at least 9 feet tall and covered in coarse dusty beige hair. He had cloven feet, but not hooves, just broad, clawed pads. His neck was abnormally long and curved upwards, and when he swung around slightly, Crowley saw he had the head of a camel. The face rang a bell, although Crowley couldn’t immediately put a name to it, at least until the imp bobbed their head in a respectful bow, said “Thank you, Duke Vual,” and scurried off. 

Now that Vual was alone, Crowley seized his chance and slithered forward rapidly, eyeing up where to aim his bite, creeping up from behind. It blindsided him when the duke lashed out lightning fast with a wickedly strong kick from his hoof, nailing Crowley in the head, stunning him, and then stood on his throat, pinning him down with his considerable weight. 

“What, you didn’t think I couldn’t hear you coming, Crawly? Or that I didn’t think you’d be coming down here sooner or later? Dear oh dear…” The duke’s camelid face stooped down to inspect the writhing serpent with keen interest, and Crowley hissed, coiling madly as he tried to wriggle free. “I thought you’d be more grateful, Crawly. What a shame.”


	8. Wrath and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: blood, graphic violence, minor character death, dysmorphia, dysphoria, vindictive deadnaming.
> 
> Crowley asks some questions and gets at least some of what he needs after Vual brings out the literal worst side of him. His gardening hobby turns out to be not as harmless as it looks, but ultimately useful. Crowley uses more demonic powers and skills in one day than possibly ever before in his existence, and hopes to hell that it works.

Crowley squirmed under Vual’s cloven foot, and felt the pressure begin to ease just a little, enough for him to draw breath and speak. “It’sss _Crowley,_ you stinking, flea-infested desert donkey.”

“I know,” Vual chuckled, but it is _so_ much fun getting it wrong. Now, are you going to be civilised if I let you up?” Crowley glared at him and said nothing. Vual shrugged and released the pressure anyway. His form was gradually morphing into a more humanoid one. He had a tendency to vacillate between the two without even seeming to think about it, as if his corporation’s morphic field came in waves. He began to resemble a dusty blonde, tall and scrawny hunchbacked man with a long nose and crooked teeth. He nodded at Crowley’s serpentine form. “I find it easier to converse with you in a different corporation, if you don’t mind…”

Crowley glared at him, but nonetheless shifted back into his more human shape with a shudder. His wings manifested without him entirely meaning them to, but he left them apparent anyway. “Why did you poison the angel?” Crowley hissed threateningly. Vual shrugged and spread his arms wide. 

“Orders. I suppose someone thought I would be a delightfully ironic choice for the task, given the history you two have.” Crowley wracked his brain as to why that might be, trying to remember what he could about the minor Duke. Pre-fall, as an angel, he’d been responsible for encouraging enemies to become friends. Weirdly, this skill had carried over into his demonic activities, but was used to create discord among larger groups. It was surprising what some well-intentioned acts could do to foster wrath. They said the road to hell was paved with good intentions. 

“Enemies to friends to lovers,” Vual laughed, a dry and somehow obscene cackle. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Crawly? Everyone knows you have carnal desires for the angel. I handed it to you on a plate, now you’re telling me you don’t want it? That’s rather ungrateful isn’t it?”

Crowley’s rage boiled over and he felt himself transforming again. Not into a serpent this time, but into his more demonic form. Part serpent, part humanoid. His upper body retained its general shape and wings, his lower body from his hips morphed into an enormous serpent, his hands and arms grew scaled and bestial claws manifested, then a pair of dark ridged horns began to curl through his hairline as his fangs lengthened and more shimmering black scales erupted over the edges of what remained of his human shaped parts. He slid closer to Vual, lip curled to reveal those lethally sharp fangs, venom sacs full again and a growl deep in his chest. He circled the other demon slowly, never taking his eyes off him, until three loops of his long body were laid on the ground around him and he was facing him again. The very tip of his tail twitched as an indicator of his inner fury being barely held in check. 

_“Ungrateful?”_ He hissed, low and terrifying. _“UNGRATEFUL?_ You thought I wanted my best friend to throw himself at me against his own will? You wanted me to violate his body while his mind was locked inside, gagged and bound by your disgusting curse? You wanted me to take him without his true consent? That’s disgusting even for a demon. _You_ disgust me. Who ordered it?”

Vual shrugged and smiled again, all smarm and sarcasm. “Why should I know? It’s not my place to ask. Did you ever ask why you were sent missions, why you had to tempt one human or another? Or did you just carry out the tasks in the belief that you were better off not knowing?”

“At least I never harmed anyone like that. Besides, temptation isn’t taking. It’s suggesting. I never forced anyone to do anything they didn’t want to deep down.”

Vual smirked. “Who says I did? Maybe the angel wants you to fuck him. Did you ever stop to think of that?”

Crowley roared and struck, incoherent with rage. The coils already on the ground around the duke tightened in a flash, crushing him and snapping bones as Crowley lunged forwards and sank his fangs deep into Vual’s throat. One strong hand grabbed for Vual’s wrist and the other clawed a jagged wound up his arm. Hot black demonic blood flowed freely from the wound as the vile creature froze in Crowley’s tight embrace. Still keeping his fangs buried deep in the duke’s neck, he miracled another small bottle into existence and held it under the laceration, filling it before capping it and banishing it to a pocket dimension for safety. 

Crowley’s face ached with a sweet sting as he pumped every drop of venom he had into the disgusting creature. He felt its broken bones shift and morph beneath his coils as the duke lost control of his corporation and his more camel-like shape reasserted itself. The long bony neck curved backward in a death spasm as the lungs stopped trying to pull air into the shattered mass of jagged remnants of his ribcage, lungs lacerated in multiple places and blood bubbling obscenely up through his mouth and nose. His limbs were limp and eyes clouded over. Crowley felt the signs of life flee, and relaxed his coils, releasing his death grip on the duke’s throat. 

He recoiled, spitting the foul taste from his mouth and wiping blackened ichor from his body with revulsion. He dropped the corpse and looked down at himself, realising what he’d become. He hadn’t given in to this shape in centuries, possibly thousands of years. He’d been the source of several legends by being glimpsed by humans like this, and he hated it. Even Aziraphale had never seen this side of him. Snake was fine, but this was the form of the monster he hated acknowledging he was deep inside. He shuddered his wings away and completed the transformation into a full serpent again. He had to get out of here unseen before someone discovered the corpses of Vual and the cockroach demon. 

Crowley slithered back as fast as he could, keeping to the shadows and keeping his head down. There were enough crawling things around here in the pits that no one should take much interest in yet another. He’d have to make a run for it once he got into the main office area and the escalator unless he went around the back and used the filthy service lift instead, as he would be less likely to be seen there. He decided that was safer. 

He was amazed that he’d managed to escape unscathed, and he hoped unnoticed. He morphed back into his humanoid shape as the lift alighted at the earth level, and fled for the exit. Fumbling for the Bentley’s keys in his pocket and trying not to look as panicked as he felt, Crowley got in, jammed her in gear and floored the accelerator, dumped the clutch and sped away. He couldn’t discount the possibility he might have been seen on some kind of CCTV, so he had to try to get away as quickly as possible. 

* * *

Aziraphale heard the front door slam and breathed a sigh of relief. He hastily shoved a towel off the bed and made sure he looked presentable so as not to anger Crowley more. He heard the frantic knock at the bedroom door and felt a wave of warmth that the demon kept insisting on placing this boundary of respect for him, trying to give him some dignity despite the circumstances. “Crowley, are you alright?” He called out anxiously. The door swung open and Crowley strode in. Even Aziraphale could smell the faint stench of hell and other demons on him. 

Crowley’s gaze flicked to the towel on the floor, and Aziraphale thought he saw a brief look of relief at the fact that the angel was at least fully clothed this time. “It was Duke Vual who carried it out, but he wouldn’t say who ordered it, and I couldn’t risk hanging around there too long to torture it out of him. I got the important part, but I’ve still got some work to do. You’re ok, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded but couldn’t help squirming at the sight of the handsome demon standing before him. “I still need you, Crowley, I’m sorry, but I do, I need you so badly my love, I know you hate me saying it but I do, I really do…” Crowley drew an exasperated breath and stepped over to inspect the tray of food he’d left. It was untouched. Clearly the curse was still ruling the angel’s mind too strongly for him to bother eating unless he was directly ordered to. 

“Eat some more food, Aziraphale, I have to do some more stuff before I can try breaking this curse. I’ll be in the other room, shout if you need me, but only if it’s important.” He left again and Aziraphale felt like he was going to cry in sheer frustration. 

* * *

Crowley set the two small bottles on the kitchen counter, wrinkling his nose in revulsion. He needed more however. He referred to his notebook. Blood from the caster, semen from the cursed, but it also needed semen from the target of the cursed’s lust, namely Crowley. He wished he’d known that earlier when he’d had his pathetic frustrated wank, because doing it again was the last thing on his mind right now, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to manage it. There were other ingredients needed as well, but Crowley already had access to those. He sighed and got out his black granite pestle and mortar from one of the kitchen cupboards, setting it on the dark marble countertop. 

Next he stalked through to the plant room, picked up a pair of secateurs, and placed his thumb on a keypad on the wall next to another room beyond. It beeped and allowed him entry. He picked up a pair of rubber gardening gloves from a shelf by the door and let his gaze sweep the room. These were his more dangerous plants, and the datura, or Devil’s trumpet was one of them that he needed. He had to keep this one locked away lest any visiting human be tempted to sniff the pretty flowers, which would be a really, _really_ bad idea. 

Donning the gloves, he grasped a pristine white bloom and snipped it off, then selected another couple and collected those too. Next he went to another similarly dangerous plant, an ancient cultivar lost to modern horticulture and propagated by pretty much only a single entity on the planet: Crowley. It didn’t even have a name, as it had disappeared centuries ago, long before being discovered by modern society. Crowley knew it by its old Enochian name which translated roughly as “blood breaker”, that caused the blood of anyone ingesting it to split into its constituent plasma and red blood cells rather than a homogenous liquid, and caused catastrophic organ failure. Needless to say, the resulting potion he was aiming for was absolutely not one designed to be ingested by anyone. 

He dug up the root carefully and chopped off a chunk before repotting the rest of the plant. He then took the flowers and root to the kitchen, washed the root off in the sink, placed the datura flowers in the mortar, then removed his gardening gloves and set them aside. He ground up the flowers, then lifted the root lump with some tongs and dropped it in as well, continuing to grind until it was a smooth paste, being careful not to breathe it in or get it on his skin. He next grabbed a bottle of vodka from the cupboard and added a measure, mixed it a bit more then set it aside. 

Right. Time for the bit he’d been procrastinating over. He gave a shudder. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. He washed his hands thoroughly just in case, grabbed another bottle and headed for his bedroom again. He wriggled out of his jeans and laid back, glaring at the ceiling. He’d never felt less like pleasuring himself than right now. He waved at the tv on the wall and ordered it to display some porn, but he knew it wasn’t what he needed. Because all he’d ever needed was to imagine the angel. He just didn’t _want_ to have to imagine Aziraphale, even if it was in order to save him from this hell. 

Crowley growled at himself and palmed his cock anyway, stupid limp useless thing that it was. Usually if he was feeling this fucking ambivalent about (or replused by) his own genitalia he’d just swap it out for something else that he was feeling more in the mood for at that time. At least being an occult being meant that gender fluidity was rather easier. But unfortunately he needed a cock for this, distasteful as it was. Right now he was absolutely repulsed by his own cock, but he was going to have to deal with it for Aziraphale’s sake. At least he could banish it afterwards. 

He glared at the cheap porn showing on the screen, the volume down low so as not to disturb Aziraphale. He motioned with his left hand in lieu of a remote, to scan for alternatives, flipping through the options rapidly one after the other, trying to find something that would get him started, but his mind kept drifting back to his manacled angel, and he wanted to punch himself for it. Wanted to purge that image from his brain forever. Death had been too good for Vual, he decided. 

It took longer than usual, Crowley tried to relax, tried to let go but it wasn’t working. He muted the sound and forgot about his cock for the moment. He lay back instead, closed his eyes and tried to meditate a little, clear his mind, breathe deep and calm his racing thoughts. He zoned out a little, and then eventually opened his eyes and just watched the porn for a bit without touching himself at all. He’d never been able to get hard without thinking of Aziraphale no matter what the circumstances. He just had to try again to think of more inoffensive fantasies, soft, loving scenarios, ones where the angel was an enthusiastically willing participant, not a cursed one. He stroked his cock and let his mind work at last.

It took significantly longer, but he got there in the end, shuddering through his orgasm with a relief that left him lying back on the bed mentally exhausted and muscles quivering. He groped beside him on the bed for the empty bottle and wiped the come off his hand into it with a grimace, sealed it, then went for another searing hot shower. 

Afterwards was the easy bit. He snipped a lock of his own hair and carried it through to the pile of assembled ingredients in the kitchen, along with his shameful bottle of ejaculate. Then he took the scissors to Aziraphale’s room. The angel bit his lip and tried desperately not to rub at his own crotch while Crowley cut a lock of his blonde hair then left again without a word. He placed the hair all together in a small metal dish and lit it on fire, then shook the ash into the mortar with the mix already in there, and some dried exotic herbs. Next the two bottles of semen, and finally the disgusting black demonic blood from Vual. The stench from the mess of filth in the mortar assaulted his sensitive serpentine senses. At least the datura couldn’t harm him too much as a demon, but it paid to be careful. 

He looked at the nearly finished product and wondered where to complete it. The floor was as good a place as any, it was concrete after all. Crowley snapped up a stick of chalk and consulted his notes, then double checked some of the text in the original books for good measure. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up. He carefully chalked a series of concentric circles on the floor and set about placing down the correct sigils around the edge. In the centre he put Vual’s name in Enochian, plus Aziraphale’s. At the outer edge he scribed his own true name. Not even Aziraphale knew it. He scribed it into the floor with his claw and a lick of hellfire rather than chalk, as it was the method of writing it as much as the sigil itself which made up the completeness of his identity. 

This done, he picked up the mortar and set it on the floor next to the circle. He needed something appropriate to daub it with, something suitably demonic that lent a respect to proceedings. He manifested his wings and looked over them for maybe a feather that might be ready to moult, but no such luck. They were in pristine condition, which meant he was going to have to do it the painful way. He grimaced, took firm hold of one of his primaries, steeled himself, gritted his teeth and yanked hard. 

Primary feathers are seated deep into the wing, connected by tendon to the bones within, only loosing when they were being naturally shed. It hurt like fuck to actually rip one out on purpose, but the sacrifice of pain and blood on his own behalf would be suitable to lend weight to the curse breaking procedure. He bit back a cry of pain and instead hissed through bared teeth at the agony in his left wingtip. Drips of blood splashed on the floor from the injury, so he reached over and squeezed his wingtip hard to stem the flow until it began to clot. 

While he held his wing in one hand, he knelt down and gathered a bit of his own blood on the tip of the feather, it couldn’t hurt to add some of his own to the equation, and used that to trace over some of the sigils on the circle. Crowley cautiously relaxed his grip on his wing, his hand also smeared with blood, but it seemed to have slowed to an ooze now rather than actively dripping out, so he folded his wings behind him for the moment, but kept them out. 

The next step involved dipping his feather in the foul mess of ingredients in the mortar, and tracing over the circle with the solution. This done, he dropped his soiled feather in the mortar, set it aside, and lit up the contents with hellfire to destroy the lot. The penultimate step was simple: a glass of alcohol. It could be anything, but he might as well pick something decent and worthy of the occasion. He stepped over to his climate controlled wine cabinet and selected an expensive bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1958, uncorked it and poured out two glasses. One he drank himself because fuck knows he deserved it at this point. The other he set carefully in the centre of the circle. 

The final step was the words. Rather than relying on his transcript notes, he fetched the book directly to ensure he made no mistakes. As he began to speak the words that no human alive would be capable of pronouncing properly, the circle began to glow a dark red, and the sticky mess of fluids began to boil and bubble, emitting a foul stench and greasy black smoke. The smoke appeared to pour toward the glass of wine in the centre, circling it then pouring in and vanishing. 

The words he had to speak were downright uncomfortable to actually enunciate, like speaking with a mouth full of barbed wire, one or two hurt and he was sure he could feel his mouth beginning to bleed as he spoke them. He spat blood into the circle and carried on. He came to the end and the black smoke subsided then vanished. The wine looked perfectly normal. He picked up the glass and set it carefully on the counter, wondering whether to destroy the circle altogether now, or wait until he’d tried it on Aziraphale, as he wouldn’t get a second chance to get Vual’s blood now he was dead. The circle itself was dangerous, but he might need it again. He decided to leave it for now, and carried the glass through to Aziraphale’s room, treading carefully and not taking his eyes from the liquid in the glass lest he spill any. 

Aziraphale looked up at him with trepidation when he saw how serious the demon was, and saw the bloodied wingtip leaving the odd droplet of blood on the floor in Crowley’s wake. “Is that… something to do with the cure?” He asked hesitantly. Crowley nodded stiffly. 

“Unbutton your shirt. This needs to go on your skin.”

“So I’m not to drink it then?”

“Fuck no. Undo your shirt.” 

Aziraphale complied and lay back, looking up at Crowley with absolute trust in his eyes. “I love you, Crowley,” he whispered. Crowley’s face twisted in pain again at the words. He stood over the angel and poured the wine over his chest. 


	9. Broken curse, broken hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of truth, but how can Crowley know if the curse is lifted or not? Especially when Aziraphale still tells him that he loves him? No matter what the angel says, Crowley is going to be broken either way.
> 
> Aziraphale is left alone to deal with his own thoughts, Crowley doesn't know _how_ to process his emotions. 
> 
> Sorry, a shitload more angst is about to get dropped on you this chapter, but it will get better, I promise. It's going to take a while though.

The liquid poured over Aziraphale feeling like cool water, he felt _something_ sinking through his skin as the mundane part of the wine ran off in red streams down the sides of his chest and sank into the bed sheets below him. He shuddered and the searing burning ache in his loins dissipated, melting away like snow thawing in spring. He cried out in ecstasy with sheer relief at the sensation, a weight lifted from his soul and he felt like he could breathe easily for the first time in days. 

He began to cry.

“Oh, Crowley… Crowley, thank you. Oh my dear, you, you...I…” His ocean blue eyes met Crowley’s golden ones with such overpowering love filling them that Crowley’s brow knitted in confusion. 

“... Crowley, I love you.”

He regretted the words immediately. Not because he didn’t mean them, he did, absolutely and with every molecule of his being, but because he realised too late that it was exactly the wrong thing to say to the demon, who was already on the verge of breaking apart completely, as it pitched him forth into a deep well of despair with a broken wail. 

Crowley felt himself crumble and fell to the floor, the wine glass tumbled from his fingertips and smashed on the hard concrete, and he fell to his knees amidst the jagged shards, unheeding of them slicing into his skin, with a heart rending cry that seemed to rip from his lungs with a pain that made him think he might never be able to speak or breathe again. 

Tears ran from his eyes in burning tracks down his cheeks and he could dimly hear a voice, which was apparently his own, just repeating “No no no no no no no no” endlessly. He’d failed Aziraphale. He’d fucked up. It hadn’t worked. Aziraphale was trying to say something but he didn’t want to hear it, whatever it was. He just wanted to go, to run away and never come back, but he couldn’t leave the angel alone. He didn’t know what to do. 

“Crowley! Crowley will you _LISTEN_ to me, please? _Please_ Crowley, get up, listen, it _did_ work, I promise you, it worked, you did it, I’m cured, it’s gone, please believe me Crowley…”

Crowley finally raised his tear streaked face to stare blankly at Aziraphale, he felt hollow, his guts scooped out and replaced by a gnawing self hating creature within that was going to just keep on devouring every feeling Crowley possessed from the inside out. He tried to process the angel’s words. 

“It worked Crowley, It did, please believe me, you broke the curse. You can let me go now…”

“Just shut up, Stop lying.” Crowley replied flatly, all emotion gone from his voice. He was exhausted. “I failed. I failed you. I’m nothing but a useless fucking fuck-up of a demon who can’t even break a curse.”

“You didn’t fail Crowley, listen to me will you? It worked, it’s gone.”

“If it was gone you wouldn’t have told me that you…,” his voice cracked and fresh tears fell from his eyes, “... that you love me.”

“But Crowley, that wasn’t the curse, it never was. It’s true, it’s always been true.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Crowley, why won’t you believe me?”

“Because the real Aziraphale wouldn’t say that. If he loved me he’d have told me before. How could he love me anyway? I’m a fucking _demon_. Demons don’t get to receive love, least of all from angels.”

Aziraphale’s heart broke at the words and his face crumpled. He began to cry. Crowley assumed it was simply because he hadn’t got his own way and tricked him into releasing him. He stood and left, ignoring Aziraphale’s cries for him to stay, to listen and believe him. Crowley didn’t know what to do, save for grab the remainder of the bottle of wine and start chugging it like it was a £5 bottle of plonk from the supermarket rather than the extortionately expensive vintage it was. He flung himself on the sofa, wrapped his own wings around himself, and stared blankly out of the window. What day even was it now? What time was it? He’d lost track entirely. It was dark outside, beyond that he didn’t care. He drank, and stared at the skyline, and hated himself.

Sometime after the bottle was finished and Crowley was considering just grabbing a bottle of malt whisky and carrying on, he finally registered the continued sound of crying from Aziraphale’s room. The sound was ripping at the shreds of his worthless soul like a hacksaw. He couldn’t bear it any more and he didn’t know what to do about it. He flung the bottle aside and it smashed against the far wall, then hauled himself to his feet and made his way back to the bedroom door. 

Aziraphale was curled up as much as he could on the bed, still sobbing. Crowley was lost. He made his way over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. “I don’t know what to do now, Aziraphale, I’m sorry.”

The angel sniffed and raised his head. “I… I think, maybe it just took a little while to wear off after you poured the wine? I’m, um..” he swallowed, and hated himself for what he was about to say. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t love you, Crowley. I’m fine. Honestly. I’m sorry for putting you through all this.”

“You don’t love me?” 

“...No.” Azirpahale whispered hoarsely. “I… don’t.”

Crowley didn’t know what to believe. It was both what he wanted to hear, and what he didn’t. It reaffirmed everything his hateful subconscious had been whispering to him for centuries, for millennia. Just a friend, of course Aziraphale didn’t love him. How could he? Crowley felt empty. At least before he’d had hope. Now he had nothing. Nothing left.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Aziraphale snapped. He glared at Crowley. “Just look at my damned aura, demon. Surely that will tell you what you need to know?” he hissed bitterly. He wished he’d thought of that before he’d had to say those hateful words. 

Crowley stepped back and squinted at the angel, his eyes widened in shock when he saw his usual gold aura, although tinged with jagged blue shards around his head and heart. “Aziraphale, the black and red is gone, but what’s the blue?”

Aziraphale looked down at his own chest and swallowed, trying to find the words. “That’s grief, Crowley. This hasn’t been easy.”

“Oh.” Crowley bit his lip. “I’m sorry.” He fidgeted for a moment. “I’ll go get the, uh… keys. Hang on.” He left and went to his own safe, spun the dial and extracted the keys for the shackles. He returned to the bedroom and knelt by the bed, reaching gently for Aziraphale’s hand. The angel lifted his hand and placed it in Crowley’s, he tried to meet his gaze, but Crowley looked away, looking shamefaced. He unlocked the first manacle, then moved down to Aziraphale’s ankle and released that one, moved around the bed to the other ankle, and finally to his other hand. 

His gaze finally met Aziraphale’s. “I’m sorry I had to do this to you.” He unlocked it and let the shackle fall to the floor with a clatter. Aziraphale rubbed at his wrist, and tried an experimental snap. His shoes, bowtie, waistcoat and jacket miracled onto his body. 

“I’m sorry too, Crowley. I’m sorry you had to go through all this, I’m sorry for how I behaved, I’m sorry for all the unpleasantness. I’m sor…” Crowley cut him off sharply. 

“No. Not now. Please don’t. I can’t deal with it. You need to get back to the bookshop and look after yourself, get away from me and recover from what you’ve been through. I just need to, I dunno. Sleep for another century, probably.”

“Oh Crowley, please don’t. We do need to talk about this, I can’t leave you like this, you’ve been through hell for me, literally. You’ve had to do awful things to save me, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am, how much I appreciate it, I could never repay you for it. You’ve been patience itself, you’ve had to put up with seeing me at my very worst and do things you’d never want to.” He took a breath, Crowley was already standing and turning away. 

“Please stop, Crowley. If not now, can we perhaps say tomorrow? Get some sleep, but I don’t want to let you dwell on this for too long, I know what you’re like Crowley. We need to talk it out later. Promise me, please?”

Crowley turned to look at him, his face a picture of misery. “Promise you what, Aziraphale?”

“Promise me that you’ll meet me, tomorrow evening perhaps, and talk about this. Please allow me to get my words out properly. I owe you that. I need to do it, will you let me?”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever. ‘S ok, no more holy water in the safe, Angel.” He made the dark joke with a bitter smile. “I guess I’ll still be here for you to talk to tomorrow then.” He looked up and saw Aziraphale was crying again, and his own face twisted into a mask of misery as well in response. He turned away. “Just go.” With that, Crowley turned his back on the angel again and walked to his own bedroom, fell face down on the bed and began to sob. 

* * *

The last thing Aziraphale wanted to do was to leave Crowley like this, but he also knew he was hurting and needed space. He glanced at the pile of books on the study table, collected them together and reluctantly left the flat. He made his way wearily along the streets back home, mind numb. 

Yes his behaviour had been disgusting in many ways, but his love for Crowley and his confession of it the entire way through had been sincere. Crowley was broken, and Aziraphale needed to help put him back together again somehow, before he did something foolish. The curse had made Aziraphale behave as he had in his darkest fantasies. Almost nothing that had left his mouth hadn’t been part of some dream or another at some point, and for that he hated himself. 

Aziraphale stepped through the door of the bookshop in a daze. He glanced at the pile of books in his arms, and decided he should at least make them safe again before doing anything else. He removed the less dangerous couple, then took the rest. He sank to his knees in the coal dust and gazed at the heavy slab. The angel ran his hands over it and muttered under his breath to unweave the ward he’d placed on it, which had sunk back into place again after Crowley had somehow undone it. He felt the ward relax and unfurl, then paused. 

How _had_ Crowley been able to undo this? Only angelic power should be capable of circumventing this celestial protective lock. Did Crowley know another angel who would help him out? He spread out his ethereal senses, for want of a better word, he sniffed out who had accessed the secret safe in the coal cellar floor, but the only supernatural trail left behind belonged to Crowley. No one else had touched it. 

But _how?_

There was a small amount of demonic taint left behind, but not as much as he’d expect. There was something else there, something which wasn’t demonic, and yet was still uniquely Crowley. Aziraphale couldn’t understand it at all. Whatever it was, it was more powerful than the magic he’d used to instil the ward into the stone in the first place, and that unnerved him more than it probably should. 

He hauled the heavy flagstone up easily, removed the wooden chest, miracled up the key and unlocked it, then replaced the powerful demonic tomes in their rightful place. He hated the feeling he got when he touched the vile things, but as had been proved, the knowledge within them was worth keeping rather than destroying altogether. Aziraphale re-locked the chest and placed it back under the floor, replaced the flagstone and smoothed the ward back into place over it again. Finally he shovelled the pile of coal back over the flagstones in a natural looking pile.

He rose with an exhausted sigh, made a half hearted attempt to brush the black coal dust from his knees then gave up and miracled it away and retreated upstairs. He drifted to the kitchenette as if on autopilot and flicked the kettle on to make some tea, his mind elsewhere entirely. Scenes from the past few days flitted behind his eyes in horrible vignettes and he found his eyes welling with tears once more. Poor Crowley had cared for him so lovingly despite the evident disgust at what the angel had been saying and doing. 

The click of the kettle switching itself off brought Aziraphale back to reality and he went through the motions of brewing a cuppa, before drifting through to the study again. Rather than sitting at his desk as usual, he found himself gravitating to the sofa instead, taking what was usually Crowley’s seat. He placed the cup of tea on the table and hugged a cushion to his chest, staring at nothing. This was going to be a long 24 hours.

* * *

Crowley’s eyes were raw, his throat ached, he didn’t know how long he’d been crying for, and he didn’t care. Time had lost all meaning over the past few days anyway. He couldn’t understand why Aziraphale would want to talk to him again. He’d already told him the truth, he’d already told Crowley that he didn’t love him, what more was there worth saying after that? 

Crowley’s subconscious was not kind, it never had been. When the creator of the known universe casts you out as worthless, it’s hard not to agree with the sentence. How could She be wrong, after all? She’d made him in the first place, She’d made everything. So if She had made him fall, She probably knew something he didn’t. He’d been put here to suffer, he knew that. He didn’t deserve anything good after his fall. 

But Aziraphale wasn’t fallen, he deserved everything good, and what had he got? She’d allowed him to suffer through the hell of that damned curse. How could She let that happen to someone as good as Aziraphale? Crowley banished his wings then shoved himself up and off the bed, needing movement. He wandered around the flat and came to the circle still on the floor. He swept his hand above it in a motion that lit the whole thing up in hellfire to banish all trace of it. 

Crowley found himself returning to the bedroom where Aziraphale had spent the past few days. Disgusted with this as well, he incinerated the bed and everything else in the room, leaving it a blank concrete tomb, then stepped out and sealed the doorway up entirely, so that no evidence of its existence remained. No doorway, just a smooth wall. He never wanted to go in there again. He paced restlessly, like a caged tiger, needing movement, needing something and not knowing what. With a snarl, he strode from the apartment, slamming the door behind him. 

Crowley slunk out through the dark city streets. He had no destination in mind, he just needed to move. He avoided the noisier areas where drunken humans erupted in loud hordes from nightclubs, clutching each other and laughing raucously. He wanted darkness and silence, inasmuch as that was available in the city that never slept. 

He made his way to a park, just to get away from most of the people. He scented humans up to illicit activities in the dark, sex workers plying their trade, and briefly considered hiring one and asking them to just use him and debase him in all the ways he deserved, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as he had it. Crowley walked on, hands in pockets, trying to out-walk his thoughts. 

The park came and went, and he carried on, walking aimlessly through the night. At least once someone tried to sneak up on him to mug him, but was dismissed with a wave of Crowley’s hand, flicked back against the nearest wall with a surge of unstoppable power almost without a thought. Crowley barely blinked and walked on, through the streets to the dawn. Human activity diminished to almost nothing, then slowly picked up again with street sweepers and bin lorries. Vans began dropping off bundles of newspapers outside tube stations and newsagents, bus traffic began to increase, early shift workers began to commute in, and after another hour or two, shops began to open. 

Too many people now, too much daylight, too much of everything. Crowley sighed and took stock. It took him a bit to work out where he’d got to, several miles across London. He pondered getting a taxi home, but then decided to just keep walking. He turned back toward Mayfair, kept his head down and set off once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as an aside, a random irony that I had this song: [ Robert Palmer: "Addicted to love"](https://youtu.be/XcATvu5f9vE) playing on my playlist while editing this. It took me a bit before I realised how it summed up Aziraphale for much of this fic.
> 
> LYRICS: 
> 
> Your lights are on, but you're not home  
> Your mind is not your own  
> Your heart sweats, your body shakes  
> Another kiss is what it takes
> 
> You can't sleep, you can't eat  
> There's no doubt, you're in deep  
> Your throat is tight, you can't breathe  
> Another kiss is all you need
> 
> Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah  
> It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough  
> You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love
> 
> You see the signs, but you can't read  
> You're running at a different speed  
> Your heart beats in double time  
> Another kiss and you'll be mine, a one track mind
> 
> You can't be saved  
> Oblivion is all you crave  
> If there's some left for you  
> You don't mind if you do
> 
> Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah  
> It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough  
> You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love
> 
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love
> 
> Your lights are on, but you're not home  
> Your will is not your own  
> You're heart sweats and teeth grind  
> Another kiss and you'll be mine
> 
> Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah  
> It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough  
> You know you're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love
> 
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love  
> Might as well face it, you're addicted to love


	10. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is at a loss as to how to heal the rift between him and Crowley, to pull him back from the brink he knows the demon is teetering on. He brings Crowley a surprise to help him get started with the words he needs to say. 
> 
> There's going to be a lot of talking things out, but they might be finally beginning to understand what they really mean to one another, and there's hope on the horizon. Still a long way to go through. Some things can't be dealt with all in one go.

Never had a day dragged on so long for either of them, both tortured in their solitude. Aziraphale fretted and tried to think through various scenarios of how he could possibly get Crowley to understand how he really felt, how to apologise for putting him through everything, how to reassure him and stop him from disappearing and sleeping for another century or more.

* * *

Crowley got back to his flat, kicked off his shoes, climbed into bed and forced himself into sleep.

* * *

Aziraphale dithered around the shop, desperately trying to think of how to get through to Crowley. The demon was always so attentive to things that Aziraphale liked, and often bought him gifts that made him smile. Crowley was somewhat harder to find things for. He didn’t collect knick-knacks, he chose his own clothing, he only really liked his Bentley but there wasn’t really any gift Aziraphale could think of to do with the car that he thought Crowley would want. His flat was so bare and austere, nothing but blank walls and a splash of colour in the plant room…

The angel paused, cogs turning in his head. There could be more than one way to get Crowley’s attention and get through to him. He spun around and rushed to an area near the front of the shop, scanning shelves frantically. He found what he was looking for, first one, then a second, and a third book on the same subject, all pretty old, beautifully bound and illustrated. Aziraphale snatched them up and rushed back to his desk, extracted a paper and pen and began to take notes. 

This done, he tucked the piece of paper in his pocket and set out, heading over to Moyses Stevens, a florist he’d known for well over a century. He handed over his list and requested a bouquet of the listed plants and flowers. The assistant eyed it curiously. 

“Mr Fell, you realise that this selection won’t make the most aesthetically pleasing combination?” His supervisor, who had known Aziraphale rather longer, peered over his shoulder and skimmed down the list. A faint smile crossed her lips. 

“I’ll take this one, can you go and do Mrs. Hafiz’s arrangement please?” She turned to Aziraphale with a consoling smile. “It’s the message, isn’t it?” she murmured quietly as she began to select the blooms on the list. “Not many people would understand this one.” She glanced at him discreetly as she trimmed stems, noting the redness in his eyes. She felt herself welling up slightly as well. Something hurtful had happened, and the flowers were part of putting it right. She arranged the flowers not so much in the order that made them look coherent colourfully, but in the order that made the most sense with their hidden meanings instead, so that the bouquet read like a note from top to bottom. Aziraphale noticed what she was doing and gave her a sad smile back. 

After a while she passed the finished creation over. “I hope they’re appreciated,” she said quietly as she took the payment. “Best of luck, Mr. Fell.” Aziraphale gave her a small smile in return, and a discreet blessing as he left the shop. He checked the time, still only early afternoon, he’d leave it a couple more hours just in case. He realised he hadn’t specified a time or place to meet Crowley, only that it would be evening. He decided that he’d go over to the flat again so Crowley could be on his own turf, and perhaps feel a little more at ease. 

He fretted around the shop some more, unable to settle on any one activity for more than a few minutes at a time. Eventually the longcase clock struck 5pm and he couldn’t bear it any longer. He picked up the telephone and rang Crowley. The demon’s mobile rang on for far too long, and wasn’t answered. Perhaps it was on silent. He tried the landline next, and after a few rings also unanswered it went to answerphone. “Crowley? It’s me. I’m coming over. I’ll see you shortly.”

Aziraphale hesitated over taking a bottle of wine, but thought the better of it. Partly because this was a conversation they needed to have sober, partly because he was afraid that the wine would likely just remind Crowley of the whole curse breaking incident, and he didn’t want him to dwell on that. He picked up the bouquet and headed out.

* * *

Crowley’s mobile vibrated on the pillow next to him. He roused slightly from sleep and glared at it without making any attempt to pick it up or even touch it. He ignored it until it stopped buzzing. A moment later the landline rang. That had to mean Aziraphale. He heard the answerphone click in and the faint sound of Aziraphale’s familiar voice leaving a message, then the beep as he hung up. He groaned and levered himself up and off the bed. He grabbed his mobile and saw, as he suspected, that the missed call had also been from the angel. 

He sauntered through to the study and listened to the message. Shit. He didn’t have long, and he looked like crap. He did a quick miracle to put his clothes to rights, then grabbed a bottle of whisky and knocked back a mouthful as Dutch courage. His memory played back Aziraphale’s arrival a few days ago and his anxiety began to amp up. He hovered near the front door nervously, pacing back and forth. 

He could smell Aziraphale as he came near the door, and the bell hadn’t even stopped ringing before Crowley swung the door open. He stared at the floor and muttered “you’d better come in.” A heavy floral scent made him look up and notice the bouquet clasped in the angel’s nervous hands, and he gaped in confusion. “Aziraphale, why did you bring flowers?”

Aziraphale said nothing and simply pushed the bunch towards him, Crowley grasped them in bewilderment as Aziraphale walked past him and took a seat in the lounge, staring at his knees while he waited. Crowley shut the door and followed him. He sat on the sofa and stared at the bouquet in his hands, baffled. Aziraphale looked up. “Crowley, I _know_ you know what they mean. Read them.”

Understanding dawned, and he raked his memory for flower lore that most humans hadn’t bothered with for a century at least. He listed off the blooms. The bunch was arranged around the outside of a pot, framing a large orchid plant. “White orchid: honesty, clean intentions, forgiveness. Christmas rose: tranquilise my anxiety, Iris: your friendship means so much to me, or faith, hope, wisdom and valour. Purple hyacinth: I’m sorry, please forgive me, Azalea: take care of yourself for me, white poppy: consolation, white violet: I’m sorry, let’s take a chance on happiness or new beginnings, jonquil: sympathy, affection returned...or...um.” He paused.

“Desire for affection returned, desire, sympathy, love me.” Aziraphale offered, then completed the bouquet himself. “Red tulip: believe me, declaration of love, variegated tulip: beautiful eyes, arbutus: thee only do I love, and white chrysanthemum: truth.” He met Crowley’s disbelieving gaze. “It is the truth, Crowley. I’m sorry for everything you had to go through, I’m sorry for my behaviour, but that curse only amplified what I felt already, and removed my inhibitions to a most undesirable degree. I was telling the truth when I said I loved you, and I had to lie to you to get you to release me.”

Crowley shook his head slowly, not believing the angel’s words, but Aziraphale continued. “It is the truth, Crowley, I lied to you when I said I didn’t love you, and it tore me to pieces to do so, but you refused to believe the truth that I loved you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t know how to undo the hurt I caused, but I want to try. I wouldn’t lose your friendship for the world, Crowley, but I also need you to believe that I love you too.”

Crowley set the flowers on the coffee table and stared at them blankly, trying to marshal his thoughts. 

“Is that why you had the grief in your aura afterwards?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I hurt you too, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you for saving me, Crowley.”

The demon shrugged, he couldn’t stop staring at the flowers, reading them, over and over. His elbows were on his knees, hands knotted in front him, writhing against each other. He didn’t know what to say. He felt like he was filled full of shards of glass grinding against each other and his insides, cutting him in a million places at once with every breath. Nothing made sense any more and he found it hard to think. 

“I realise this is going to take some time, to regain trust, I mean,” Aziraphale continued. Crowley nodded vaguely. 

“You said the curse… amplified what you felt already?” Crowley was still trying to sift through the new information, to organise it into some coherent whole in his mind.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not for that. Sorry I doubted you.”

“Understandable, under the circumstances. Like you said, I’d never said it before, and for that I truly am sorry. I was scared of what might happen to you, to us, should heaven and hell find out. Then after armageddon, the reticence had just become such a hard wired habit I didn’t know how to let go of it and open up to you. I know you’d tried before, you’d offered me, um… tentative invitations, and I’d declined. I know that hurt you as well, and I’d also like to apologise for that.”

Crowley thought back to the conversation in the Bentley when Aziraphale had given him the holy water. He nodded again, eyes still flicking over the flowers, afraid to meet the angel’s eyes. He shrugged again. “Always moving too fast for you I guess.”

“No.”

“No?” Crowley did raise his gaze briefly to examine Aziraphale’s expression cautiously. 

“It was me, moving too slowly. Perhaps I should have at least explained why I kept rebuffing your advances. You deserved an explanation at the very least. Then perhaps you could have had hope. I very much wanted to run away with you, you know, when you offered. But I couldn’t leave earth and all the humans to their fate. I just _couldn’t_ , Crowley. I was sworn to protect them forever, I couldn’t just _leave_ them.”

The demon shrugged and nodded, gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah, I know. Was hard to hear though, all the same.”

“I’m sorry. This is going to take some work, I think, from both of us, and with this setback, I’m sure it’s going to take a little time as well.” Aziraphale paused. “Do you have any tea?”

Crowley stood up abruptly, flustered. “Uh yeah. Yeah, of course, yeah… sorry. Lemme just.. Yeah…” He headed to the kitchen. Aziraphale heard the kettle flick on and sat awkwardly, waiting. The sounds of everyday domesticity from the kitchen somehow soothing. The clink of teaspoon in mug, the fridge opening for the milk, more stirring, and Crowley returned, passing the angel a steaming mug, then sat on the sofa again clutching his own. He resumed staring at the flowers, as if all the answers could be found there. 

Aziraphale sipped at his tea gratefully. At least Crowley wasn’t rejecting everything out of hand. He got the feeling that something was beginning to smooth over, however slowly. 

“I think we should do this, er… frequently. Daily, If you’d be amenable. I know if we don’t communicate, if I just leave you to stew in your own juices, as it were, you’re apt to dwell on things, misconstrue things, and I don’t want to let that happen. I know you, Crowley. You don’t have to go through this all alone, I want to be here for you, because you deserve that. I know you think you don’t deserve things, as a rule, but I disagree.”

Crowley shrugged again and nodded. “Yeah. Can do, I suppose. It’ll give me something to do I guess.”

“Well don’t sound _too_ enthusiastic, will you?” Aziraphale sniped ever so gently, the sarcasm smoothed over with a joking tone and a soft smile. Crowley caught the look and the corner of his lips twitched into a shadow of a smile at last as well, even if only for a brief moment. 

“Is there anything that you want to talk about, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “I feel this has been somewhat all me so far.”

“Can’t think right now to be honest.” He sipped at his own tea despondently, then thought of something and left the room again. He returned with a vase filled with water and began disassembling the bouquet to assemble the flowers in it carefully, leaving only the orchid in its pot. Aziraphale watched the demon’s careful and tender movements, and thought of those same careful hands tending to him while he was incapacitated. Bringing him the drinks and food. He’d never imagine a demon capable of such gentleness, and craved more of it. 

“Well, think on it, will you? If there’s anything you want to ask me, anything we need to say to clear the air, write it down if you wish, perhaps if you don’t feel able to get the words out then I could read it instead, if that’s easier for you. Shall we meet again tomorrow for lunch perhaps? What do you say to Brown’s hotel for luncheon?”

“Brown’s sounds good, yeah. What time?”

“Midday?”

“Sure thing, Angel.”

Well then, I shall leave you to it for now, I suppose. Thank you for the tea, my dear.” He set his cup on the coffee table and stood, smoothing out his clothes distractedly. Crowley stood awkwardly, unsure what to do. Aziraphale hesitated to touch Crowley. It wasn’t what they’d done before, and now he worried that reaching out to make physical contact might upset the demon more, given how grabby Aziraphale had been under the curse. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Crowley. Thank you for listening to me.”

“‘S no problem.” Crowley muttered. “Thanks for coming over.” He hadn’t felt this awkward in a long time. Possibly ever. 

“I’ll show myself out, get some more sleep, Crowley, I think you need it.”

“Sure.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, pain still in his eyes, and left quietly. Crowley heard the front door close quietly, still staring at the flowers on the table in a daze. 

_Fuck._

_He hadn’t said it._

_He hadn’t said the one fucking thing he_ **_should_ ** _have said._

“Shit.”

Crowley ran for the door. The lift was already descending. He grabbed the door to the stairwell instead and sprinted down. When he charged through the door in the lobby, Aziraphale was ahead, just leaving the front door of the building, head down. 

“ANGEL!” Crowley yelled after him. Aziraphale stopped, surprised, and turned, confusion etched on his face. Crowley ran out after him and stopped before Aziraphale, shaking slightly with the exertion, and nerves. 

“I didn’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“Well, aside from that I’m an idiot, that is…”

“You’re not an idiot, Crowley.”

“Yeah, I am but it’s not that.” He looked Aziraphale in the eyes, suddenly realising he was outside his flat without his damn shades on, but there weren’t any humans about anyway. He took a breath. 

“I love you too.”

Aziraphale blinked, unsure how to respond. 

“Sorry, my mind was all over the place, you bloody confessed you loved me and like a fucking idiot I forgot to say it back. I do. Love you, I mean. I always have. I’m sorry I didn’t say it either. But now I have, so… there’s that… I guess?” He looked panicked. 

Aziraphale chewed his lip nervously, and looked Crowley in the eye. “May I take your hand, Crowley?” The demon nodded in silent assent. Aziraphale reached out and took his unresisting hand in his own, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Crowley. I would like, very much at this point, to be allowed to kiss you, but I also realise that might be too much for you right now, and completely understand if you’d prefer not to, under the circumstances.”

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure either. Instead, he lifted their joined hands between them, and placed a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s knuckles. “We could save it for tomorrow, maybe? Something to look forward to?”

Aziraphale beamed, and it was as if his entire body glowed with his halo. “Yes. I think that would be delightful, my love.” He brought their joined hands to his own lips and kissed Crowley’s knuckles in return. “Lunch then?”

“Lunch. Love you, Angel. “

“I love you too, Crowley.” They reluctantly released their grip, and Aziraphale walked away. Crowley watched until he had turned the corner of the street, then ambled back indoors in a haze. He fell asleep on the sofa, just staring at the flowers until his eyelids became heavy, so when he woke, they’d be the first thing he saw. 


	11. Something to look forward to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some old habits it can be nice to fall back into - the familiarity of routine, and then to push the envelope a little with something new, or a new take on an old scene. Both are still feeling their way nervously ahead, scared to push too far and taking little steps toward healing and supporting each other through this whole mess. 
> 
> For now, it's a demon who needs things to go more slowly.

The flowers were the first thing Crowley saw when he woke. He was sideways, lying down curled up on the sofa, and the explosion of colour brought him out of a surprisingly dreamless sleep with a smile. He might have thought he’d dreamed the whole thing with Aziraphale’s visit otherwise, if it wasn’t for the flowers as a tangible bit of evidence that it had all really happened. 

He checked his watch, he’d slept in until half ten. Could be worse. He’d needed the rest. Aziraphale deserved something thoughtful as well, so he yawned, stretched, made himself some strong black coffee to gulp back, then headed out to Wardour street over in Soho. A short walk, for a special treat. 

Paul Young was actually in the shop today, which was a pleasant surprise. He recognised Crowley and greeted him with a warm smile. He recognised the skinny redhead who often popped in for an expensive selection box for his mystery friend. This time, Crowley placed his black credit card on the counter and told him to put together something extra special, regardless of cost. “Not just a regular selection box. Fling together what you’d want to put in for someone special in your  _ own  _ life, yeah? All of it.” Paul nodded with a little smile, happy to pull out all the stops for one of his most regular customers. 

It was a short walk from Wardour Street over to Brown’s hotel. Crowley made his way to the bar for a fortifying cocktail first while he waited for Aziraphale to arrive. He was starting to feel more himself again, this was more like he was used to behaving. The familiar routine of wining and dining the angel, spoiling him, but never before with any expectation of anything other than the opportunity to hang out together, enjoying one another’s company. 

He checked his watch nervously. The cocktail artiste behind the bar gave him an encouraging smile. She hadn’t failed to notice either his nerves or the expensive looking bag he held for his date. The redhead’s nerves were palpable, and she found herself hoping he’d be ok. 

At ten to twelve, Aziraphale arrived, looking equally nervous. Crowley stood from his barstool with a smile, took the angel’s hand and kissed it fondly, before handing over the bag with the boxed chocolates within. Aziraphale beamed and slid the box out of the bag on the bar top to inspect the contents. “Oh Crowley, these look delectable, thank you.” He hesitated, then placed a hand on the demon’s arm, then reached forward to give him a quick soft kiss on the cheek. Crowley shivered and smiled. 

“‘S nothing, Angel, thought you might like to enjoy them later. So...lunch?”

“Yes, let’s.” Aziraphale offered his arm, and Crowley took it as they made their way to the restaurant. The angel ordered the kingfish ceviche, pickled rhubarb and blood orange, while Crowley ordered the Brown’s beef tartare for starters. The main course was veal cutlet with Jerusalem artichokes and lemon thyme for Aziraphale, while Crowley selected the rack of Cumbrian lamb with aubergine, artichokes and green olives. 

Crowley, as usual, mostly picked at his food, good as it was, in favour of mostly watching Aziraphale enjoy the fine fare. He felt the familiar warm glow of contentment replacing the anxiety that had consumed him over the past few days. This was returning to normal in a way, and reaching somewhere beyond. It was both comforting and slightly terrifying. 

“Food good, Angel?”  _ As if he couldn’t tell.  _

“Delectable, my dear. Thank you.” He folded his napkin and set it aside, sipping at his wine and meeting Crowley’s gaze with a soft smile. A waiter swept in and removed the plates, then returned and offered a dessert menu. Crowley declined and ordered a coffee, while Aziraphale ordered the Yorkshire rhubarb with crème brûlée and ginger. Crowley watched, rapt, as he licked the creamy dessert from his spoon with a beatific smile on his face. Things felt far more familiar and relaxed now, and he was able to slowly supplant the horrible memories of the past few days with a more pleasant one. He sipped at his hot coffee and noticed that his muscles had untensed significantly over the course of the meal. 

Setting his spoon aside with a deliberate clink. Aziraphale finished his wine, and made eye contact with the waiter. Before Crowley could do his usual trick of seizing the bill, Aziraphale took it and settled up, as the demon made mildly affronted noises at the bucking of convention. 

“It’s my treat today, Crowley, you spoil me far too often. Shall we perhaps take a stroll next?” He rose and offered Crowley his arm again. Feeling distinctly peculiar, Crowley accepted, and blushed as Aziraphale again leant over to give him a peck on the cheek. 

They left, and ambled amiably through the streets, Aziraphale steering them towards Berkeley Square Gardens again. They took a seat on a bench and watched the world go by, as they had thousands of times over the years. The notable difference this time being that they sat together, holding hands. 

“Did you think of anything you wanted to ask, or say to me then, Crowley?” Aziraphale said after a while. 

“Hmm? Oh. Well… sort of. Wrote it down.” He fished in his pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to the angel. A few things had been scribbled out, leaving only one legible on the page. 

_ ‘I love you.’ _

“‘S all I could think of to say, really. All that mattered, anyway,” Crowley shrugged. “Nothing else seemed important any more.”

Aziraphale gazed at the three simple words scrawled on the paper. The pen had been pushing down fairly hard, almost tearing through the page on the word ‘love.’ He placed the note in his own pocket carefully. It was something he’d treasure always. He sought out Crowley’s gaze. 

“Crowley…?”

“Hmm?”

“May I kiss you now? Would that be alright?”

The demon swallowed, and nodded tightly. “Yeah. Please.”

Aziraphale’s touch was slow and tentative, reaching up to stroke Crowley’s face first, feeling the warmth of his skin, and the faintest roughness of stubble there. Crowley stilled at his touch, holding his breath. He felt like he might pass out. It was nothing like the desperate grasping of the angel under the influence of a curse. This was caring and tender. Ready to back off if Crowley showed any sign of fear or hesitation. He nodded again to encourage him. 

Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed their lips together softly in a rather chaste, closed mouth kiss. It was light and fleeting, not asking too much, then he lifted off with a nervous smile. 

“Thank you, love.”

Crowley found himself unable to do anything other than nod again in stunned silence. Aziraphale sat back again and their hands rejoined between them with a comforting squeeze. 

“Should we, uh, do anything else today, d’you think?” Crowley tried not to stumble over his words. 

“I don’t want to rush you, Crowley, I’d like you to set the pace. What would you like?”

“Dunno really. Not used to this.”   
  
“I know, Crowley, that’s why I want you to let me know.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again. 

“... Could go for another kiss?” He asked, hesitantly. 

“Lead the way, dear boy,” Aziraphale invited, wanting Crowley to take the initiative this time. The demon licked his lips nervously and leaned over, returning the caress that the angel had given him, drawing him close, and bringing their lips together just as softly. He took his time to appreciate it, revelling in the deliciousness of Aziraphale’s lips, deepening the kiss, and finally working up the courage to push forward with his tongue. The angel opened his lips in invitation to its caress, and moaned into the contact, his free hand coming up to stroke the back of the demon’s neck in slow repetitive motions. 

Crowley felt like he was going to melt. His worries dissipated in the moment, and he never wanted to let go. This wasn’t heaven. This was far better than anything heaven had ever had to offer him. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced in his life. If he died right now, he’d die happy. He felt like every moment in his entire existence had been leading him to this point, nothing that had happened before mattered any more, only his angel, and his tender touch, the sweetness of his lips. It was all he ever needed. 

He eventually, reluctantly, brought the kiss to an end, keeping his face close to Aziraphale’s, sharing his breath, nose nuzzling against his cheek. “That was worth waiting for, Angel,” he whispered. Aziraphale nodded, and stroked his fingers through the demon’s short red hair.

“Absolutely, my love. Thank you.”

Crowley gave him another light quick kiss on the lips and sat back, watching humans walk by. After a while, he closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine. He became aware that Aziraphale had started stroking the back of his hand with his thumb, and gave a little squeeze back in appreciation. 

“Want to try your choccies yet, Angel?”

“Oh, yes, I’d quite forgotten about them.” Aziraphale extracted the box from the bag and looked over the selection with interest. It was a far larger and more varied selection than Crowley usually got him. “I don’t quite know where to start. Why don’t you choose one for me, dear?”

Crowley sat up a little straighter and inspected the contents, before selecting a single origin dark chilean confection with cacao liqueur centre, and lifting it to Aziraphale’s lips. The angel accepted it with a little wiggle of delight, cracking Crowlely’s features into a fond smile. He chewed with eyes closed, appreciating every nuance of the chocolate thoroughly. 

“Oh, that was an excellent choice, dear boy. Utterly delightful. May I tempt you, perhaps as well?”

Crowley shrugged and opened his mouth expectantly to await the angel’s choice. Aziraphale giggled and picked out a gianduja enrobed in white chocolate sprinkled with candied rose petal pieces, then popped it into Crowley’s waiting mouth. He savoured the treat carefully.

“Mmmph, ‘s good, Angel.” he mumbled around the mouthful, and swallowed. “Not as tasty as you, though.” Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him again, very thoroughly. He tasted of dark chocolate. They broke off, sampled a couple more delicacies, then Aziraphale replaced the lid and re-bagged the box. 

“Would you walk me home, Crowley?”

“‘Course, Angel.” He stood and took Aziraphale’s arm in his again as they walked back to the bookshop. Aziraphale popped the kettle on and brewed them up each some tea, then joined Crowley on the sofa. They kissed a little more, then sat in companionable silence as Aziraphale read and Crowley finished his tea. He set his mug aside then reclined, lifting his feet over the arm of the sofa, and resting his head on the angel’s lap, nuzzling into the warmth of his stomach and drifting off listening to the steady turning of pages above him, and the occasional stroke of angelic fingers through his hair.

* * *

Crowley roused a little while later, Aziraphale had one hand resting on his shoulder and the other holding a book. “What time is it?” he mumbled, not wanting to move. 

“Coming up to half past nine in the evening.”

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to flake out quite that long. Was nice though.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay, Crowley, if you’d like.”

He considered it carefully. He had no real desire to return to his cold empty flat and the accumulated memories of the past week contained therein. 

“I’d… like that, yeah. If you’re sure? Not, not anything, y’know…  _ more _ .. I mean, not yet, don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet, still a bit raw, but I’d like to carry on, kind of like this, if that’s ok for now?” 

Aziraphale smiled fondly down at him and stroked his hair. “Of course Crowley, anything you’d like, dear. Although I daresay we’d be more comfortable in a proper bed, I can carry on reading and you’re welcome to get some sleep. I have some spare pyjamas if you’d like.”

“If they’re tartan I’ll miracle my own” Crowley grinned back at him. 

“Fine, miracle your own then, ungrateful wretch,” Aziraphale sighed with a theatrical eye roll and playful smile. Crowley lifted himself upwards and kissed his angel for a moment, then stood and stretched. 

“Lead the way.”

Aziraphale selected another couple of books then headed upstairs, Crowley following. He took a pair of pyjamas into the bathroom to change, while Crowley simply miracled some into being. When the angel returned from the bathroom, Crowley was already snuggled under the duvet. “‘S cold under here, Angel, need warms, c’mon.” Aziraphale slid under the duvet next to him, and Crowley gave him a kiss then snuggled up next to him, wrapping long gangly limbs around the angel’s soft warmth. “Hmmm, ‘s nice…” he murmured, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Warm Angel…”

Aziraphale re-found his place in his book, then noticed a few books in the room out of place, and recalled that Crowley must have been up here searching for the demonology books a few days ago. 

“Crowley? I’ve been meaning to ask something, dear.”

“Mmm?”

“How did you get past the wards into the safe in the coal cellar?”

“‘S a secret, Angel, told you.”

“Even from me?”

“It’s personal.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok. Maybe another time, Angel.”

“Alright. Goodnight, love”

“Love you, night, Angel.” He nuzzled closer and drifted off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter is illustrated by Alice Rovai. :) She gifted me a Crowley illustration for my birthday back in June and gave me permission to use it in this fic. Thank you Alice <3


	12. Progress in love (ILLUSTRATED by Alice Rovai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: dysphoria, dysmorphia.
> 
> There will be fluff, a picnic, Aziraphale will discover some surprising secrets about Crowley, also some more angst. We're not done yet, but plenty of love.
> 
> Aziraphale and Crowley spend more time together and continue to heal and support each other. They need to do a lot of talking. They still need to take things slowly, even if one or the other doesn't quite realise it fully themselves yet, which is why they need to look out for each other.
> 
> **Illustration provided by[Alice Rovai](https://twitter.com/alice_rovai) as a birthday gift to me as a supporter, she very kindly gave me permission to use it in this fic, thank you Alice.**

Next time Crowley roused, he was briefly confused, before recognising the familiar scent and softness of the angel under his embrace. Sunshine was slanting through a gap in the curtains and illuminating the bedroom in soft sepia tones. Aziraphale looked unutterably beautiful, still reading in silence. He’d watched over Crowley all night. 

“Sleep well, love?” Aziraphale set his book aside and smiled down at the demon cuddling up to him. 

“Best ever, yeah. You’re snuggly.”

“Happy to be of service. Would you like some coffee and breakfast, dear?”

“Coffee sounds good, yeah.” He stretched out, serpentlike in his flexibility, body writhing, baring his midriff and yawning wide. When he’d finished, Aziraphale bent over to kiss him before heading downstairs. Crowley made his way to the bathroom to take a shower and freshen up before miracling himself some fresh clothing and heading downstairs. 

A steaming cup of coffee sat on the little table by the sofa, with a plate of croissants and pain au chocolats to choose from. Aziraphale was already tucking into one with his cup of tea and flicking through the morning paper at his desk. When he saw Crowley take his place on the sofa, he stood and brought his breakfast and paper over to the sofa as well to sit with Crowley instead. He held a pain au chocolat in one hand as he read the paper with the other. The demon leaned over and took a bite out of his pastry, sitting back to chew it with a mischievous grin.

“There are plenty on the table for you to choose from, Crowley,” Aziraphale chided gently. 

“Yeah, but it tastes better if I steal it from you,” the demon winked back at him.

Aziraphale sighed and carried on holding the pastry in the same position, allowing Crowley to take a couple more bites before finishing it and reaching for a fresh one, which he carried on holding between himself and the demon as he read and took occasional nibbles. It was one way to get Crowley to eat more, anyway. 

“Anything you’d like to do today, love?” Aziraphale sipped a bit more tea and brushed crumbs off himself. Crowley peered at him over the rim of his coffee cup, thinking. 

“... Picnic?” He suggested at last. “Could take the Bentley, hop over to Fortnum & Mason, pick up a hamper, head on out to Windsor great park or something, lounge about in the sunshine.” He nodded out of the window. “Looks nice out there, and better than being stuck in London on a day like this.”

“What a splendid idea, Crowley. Capital!” Aziraphale leaned over and kissed his demon. “Let’s do it.”

“Let’s fall in love?” Crowley suggested with a slight smile. 

“Cole Porter?” Aziraphale asked, wondering if he’d got it right.

“Yeah, or Ella Fitzgerald, Joan Jett, any of ‘em you like, Angel.” He finished his coffee and began to tidy the breakfast things away. Aziraphale took care of a little paperwork and then they headed out, stopping to pick up a picnic hamper on the way, then taking the Bentley out on the M4 and heading out to Windsor. Crowley found them a secluded spot he knew, and laid out a picnic blanket to lie on in the sunshine. 

As he lay back, he felt Aziraphale’s hand twine into his once more. The angel rolled over and kissed him then lay on his side, up on one elbow, gazing at Crowley. “Is it getting easier, love?”

“What?”

“Everything.”

“I suppose so. Thought it’d take longer, if I’m honest. You make it easy.” He paused. “You make loving fun,” another song line occurring to him, although he didn’t expect Aziraphale to recognise that one. Crowley rolled on his side too and removed his shades. There were no humans in the immediate area anyway. He looked into his angel’s eyes, happy to finally have an excuse to do so without shame or hiding. “Your eyes are beautiful, Aziraphale.”

“So are yours.”

Crowley snorted in derision. “Don’t be daft.”

“I’m sincere, Crowley. I’ve always thought so. It saddens me that you have to hide them so much." 

“Yeah, well. Demons aren’t big on opening up to people. Usually not a wise career move under normal circumstances. Hard habit to get out of.”

“I empathise with that. Strangely not encouraged in angelic circles either. Hence my six millennia of reticence over my love for you, darling.”

“I guess we both have a lot of opening up to do. Well I guess you went first, ‘s only fair I take a turn.” The demon sighed and thought for a moment. “I sang the ward away.”

“Pardon?”

“On the safe in the coal cellar. I sang it open.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. “...but… but only an angel should be able to do that!”

“And only angels should be able to do blessings and heavenly miracles too, Aziraphale, yet I managed the Arrangement just fine. You never wondered how? _‘Should’_ is a bit of a flexible word.”

“But not even _I_ could _sing_ a ward open, Crowley. That’s not the same level as miracles and blessings, not at all.”

The demon shrugged and looked around, then removed his jacket and waistcoat, then wriggled out of his shirt. 

“Crowley, what… what are you doing?”

Crowley turned around to face away from the angel, showing his naked back. He heard a soft gasp from the angel, and a gentle, tentative touch on his spine as first one, then two hands rested tenderly on his skin, then drifted across to sweep over the scars. Four scars, two under where each of Crowley’s existing black wings would sprout from. He’d had more… once.

“Oh Crowley, I never realised. I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be. Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re all equal when we fall. Great leveller, that is. Doesn’t matter who you were, you’re nothing in hell. Then again, some are more equal than others, as the saying goes. I’m not one of them though.”

“But you were still able to sing?”

“Yes and no. Not properly, not with angelic grace, but the trick is, you can drag a bit down and borrow it, no one notices, no one cares. That’s how I was doing the blessings and miracles for you all that time. Then for the ward I just dragged some down and added it to my voice. Job done.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal, then shimmied his shirt back on and laid back on the ground again, balling up his jacket to use as a pillow. 

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Like a bitch, yeah. Mostly where the wings were, and my throat.”

“Then why do it at all? Why do all those missions for me over the years if it caused you pain?”

“Because you’re worth it, Angel. I hurt anyway, it might as well have meant something, make myself useful, have an excuse to keep meeting with you.”

“What do you mean, you hurt anyway?”

“Always have, since the fall. Most of us do. It never leaves you. You just kind of get used to it after a while. Flares up worse when you do good stuff though, which is probably why no one else bothers.”

“Oh Crowley, if I’d known I’d never have asked you to…”

“Hey, hey… Aziraphale… it’s ok. It was my idea, remember? I wanted to do it. Shush. Some things are worth it. My choice.” Crowley leaned over and silenced the angel’s lips with his own. He rolled into an embrace, relishing the softness of his angel below him. “I like this. Just kind of holding you, y’know?”

“I’m rather fond of it too. But then I’m rather fond of you, Crowley. Should we unpack the picnic now, do you suppose?”

“Nah, more cuddles first, Angel.”

“Of course, my love.”

They stayed that way for a while, until Crowley rolled off and reached for the hamper, and started unpacking the delights within, passing them to Aziraphale to lay out and choose from. “You said we should have a picnic one day, remember? Or dine at the Ritz. We did one of them already, this was a bit overdue.”

“You remembered.”

“Yeah, kind of stuck in my mind a bit after that night.”

“Not that you dwelled on it or anything then?” Aziraphale joked gently

“Me? Nah. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Knowing you for a few thousand years, darling.” Aziraphale replied drily, taking a bite of pâté on a slice of baguette. Crowley stuck his tongue out at him playfully, then picked at a dish of olives.

“Should have brought martini to go with the olives,” he mused. 

After they’d finished, the pair of them laid out in the sunshine for a while, enjoying each other’s company and the tranquility of the day. They’d kiss, and cuddle a little more, each growing more relaxed in the other’s presence, feeling a closeness each had yearned after for a long time. 

“Should we head home, d’you think?” Crowley enquired after a few hours. The warmth was beginning to fade from the day. Aziraphale nodded and stroked his hair again. They packed up and carried the picnic accoutrements back to the Bentley. As they drove back, Aziraphale let his hand rest, relaxed, on Crowley’s thigh. The demon relished the warm weight of it, and occasionally rested his own hand on top of the angel’s.

* * *

They stopped by Crowley’s flat so he could water the plants and spend an hour setting up an auto watering system for them. He collected the orchid and vase of flowers from Aziraphale, then they headed back to the bookshop. He didn’t feel like hanging out at his flat for a while. Back at the shop, he arranged the flowers on the table in the study and lounged back on the sofa to gaze at them. Aziraphale came to join him, Crowley leant sideways and rested his head on the angel’s shoulder. 

“It’s ok, isn’t it? Me staying here a bit longer, yeah? I just don’t want to be rattling around the flat on my own right now.”

Aziraphale kissed his hair fondly. “Of course it’s alright, love. You welcomed me into your home after armageddon, and I welcome you into mine, you’ve always been welcome here, Crowley, especially now.” Crowley turned his head and they were kissing again, then falling together onto the sofa, hands questing, touching and stroking. Aziraphale felt himself hardening, and worried that it might be too much, but either Crowley hadn’t noticed yet, or didn’t mind. 

Aziraphale slid his hand lower, and paused. Crowley looked away. “I, uh… got rid of it. Swapped for a vulva for a bit. Just didn't want to look at it or, y’know… think of it after…” he swallowed. “After I had to do the thing. I didn’t want to, but I had to for you and I hated it, just seemed so disgusting somehow even though you needed it to break the curse. Hated myself, really. It’s complicated.”

Aziraphale withdrew his hand and planted a chaste kiss on his love’s forehead, wrapping him gently in his arms.

“It’s alright, Crowley. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and whatever genitalia you prefer is fine. I love you whoever you are, my darling.”

“‘S not that I don’t want you Angel, I do. More than anything, It’s just hard right now.” He drew a breath. “You can still touch me if you want.” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale held him tighter. 

“Not yet, love. I think we still have a way to go before we should move further by the sounds of things. It doesn’t sound like you’re ready for it yet, are you?”

Crowley buried his face in the angel’s chest and shook his head slightly. Aziraphale kissed his hair. “May I hold you while we sleep though?” Crowley nodded and held Aziraphale back tighter in response. After a little while, they headed upstairs, got ready for bed, and curled up safe in each other’s arms. After a while, Aziraphale noticed Crowley shaking, and felt dampness suffusing his pyjama top from the demon’s tears there. Tears pricked at his own eyes and he held Crowley a little firmer again, stroking his back and nuzzling into his hair, murmuring soothing sounds until eventually the quiet, almost silent sobs abated.

* * *

It was the next day, and they were downstairs in the bookshop again. Aziraphale folded his newspaper and set it aside next to his empty teacup. 

“May I talk about what was going through my mind during that time, Crowley? I get the feeling that you thought that my words and feelings were so out of character that it hurt you a lot seeing me like that, and I’d like to clarify, if that would help to ease your mind?”

Crowley winced, but shrugged and nodded, his head resting on Aziraphale’s lap as they lounged on the sofa together. “We probably should, sooner or later, I guess.” The angel slowly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair and began to talk, his voice low and reassuring. 

“I told you that the feelings I had for you were the same before, during, and after the experience, my love. That I loved you, and did experience carnal desire for you as well. The curse merely amplified the carnal desires to an alarming degree and removed any inhibitions, that part of me was out of character, but the intention was not.”

“I was not locked away inside, it was akin to being very drunk and losing one’s inhibitions. I knew what I was saying and doing, I simply didn’t care in the moment about the effect they had on you. I did of course feel shame as well, but the lust overrode that feeling, I tried to moderate it when you became angry with me, because I didn’t want to displease you, I wanted to do anything to make you smile, to make you want me, and grew increasingly frustrated that the harder I tried, the more I pushed you away. That was one of the most distressing aspects for me, my darling.” He didn’t stop stroking the demon’s hair as he talked, and reached out with his other hand to take Crowley’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“I was disgusted at myself for the self-pleasure, but the curse was driving me with an insatiable lust that was burning me up, I couldn’t find any release, it was truly unbearable. Here at the bookshop I punched a hole in the wall before I even came over there, it was that powerful. If the restraints you put on me hadn’t been bolstered with demonic power, I’d have broken them for certain, and I want to thank you for restraining me, Crowley, please don’t feel bad about that, I absolutely needed it. It would have been far worse if I’d gone too far and pushed myself on you by force, I could never have forgiven myself for that, and I’m truly sorry that I made you uncomfortable, that I did try to kiss and touch you before you managed to restrain me. I did _not_ want that part to happen at all.” 

Aziraphale found that talking it out was dredging up terrifying ‘what-ifs’, and how close he’d come to doing something terrible was beginning to scare him. “I really am so grateful that you were able to restrain me, Crowley, because if you hadn’t, then I would have come out of this very, very broken indeed, if I’d succeeded in what I was attempting to do to you. It doesn’t bear thinking about.” He laid a shaking hand on Crowley’s chest, feeling the fluttering, delicate heartbeat under his palm. “I could never have forgiven myself for hurting you, my darling.”

Crowley rolled over, nuzzled into Aziraphale’s soft belly and hugged him close in response. The angel stroked his back gently, he realised he was shaking a little, and was grateful for the demon’s hug for re-centering him, slowly regaining his composure. “Thank you, my love. I needed that.” Crowley nodded and squeezed him tighter. 

After a while, Crowley released him and rolled over again. “I suppose it’s my turn then.”

“Only if you’re ready love.”

“No time like the present.” Crowley let out a long exhalation, took his angel’s hand again, and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve always wanted you too, Aziraphale. I’d dreamed about pretty much that exact scenario before, dreamed that one day you’d want me, and how we could be together. But when it happened, it was so unlike you that I knew it wasn’t right. I could smell the lust curse on you, and suddenly it was so very very wrong. As far as I knew, you were locked inside there, screaming for help, unable to control yourself. To have given in to your lust would have been tantamount to taking you without consent, and there was no way in hell I could do that to you.”

“I know I’ve been a kinky bastard, I had all that crap lying around, used to sleep around. Mostly just when I was on the job. Just hellish assignments for carnal temptations. But all I ever wanted was you. I couldn’t even get hard without thinking of you, Aziraphale, couldn’t come unless I shut my eyes and imagined it was you I was with. When I got too frustrated and there were no temptations to do, I’d look up anonymous hookups online, have them do stuff to me to take my mind off stuff for a while. Never thought it’d come in useful for restraining a horny cursed angel.” He gave a half smile. Trying to deflect the gnawing hurtful feelings with humour. Aziraphale recognised the deflection for what it was, and began to stroke his hair again in a gentle rhythm. 

“I felt like some sick bastard having to chain you up in that room. That same room that I’d used for my own disgusting desires so many times. Like you were some toy. I mean I’d literally fantasised about it before, but when it was real, it just twisted it all into something awful. Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.” He gave a derisive snort. “I literally had what I’d always wanted, a horny angel chained up in my sex dungeon demanding I fuck him, and when it happened, I realised just how fucked up that was.”

“It wasn’t.”

Crowley looked at him incredulously.

“I mean it, if it had been consensual, it could have been wonderful. I’m sorry it’s spoiled that fantasy for you, Crowley, because if circumstances had been different, I’d want to give you that someday. Now I fear it’s probably safer off-limits, lest it upset you again.”

“I guess so.” Crowley paused and tried to pick up his train of thought again. 

“Anyway, kind of never want to look at that room again. I burnt the bed. Walled it off, too many bad memories.” Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. Crowley pulled a face and carried on. “It hurt to see you like that. I thought you were trapped in there and I hated what it was doing to you, making you say words I never thought I’d hear from your lips. But it hurt worse when it made you lose your inhibitions and… y’know, touch yourself, get yourself off.”  
  
“I’m truly sorry, Crowley.”

“It’s ok. Now, anyway. Just a shock. I was so angry though, wanted to kill whoever made you do that.”  
  
“Crowey...?” The demon looked up at him enquiringly.

“You went to hell, to get their blood, and you did come back with it. Did you…?”

“Yes.” He took a breath. “I did. I let the rage take over.”

“Oh my dear…” Aziraphale lifted Crowley up and wrapped him tight in his arms, face buried in his neck, feeling Crowley’s arms wrap around him in turn. They remained that way for a while, until Crowley began to relax his grip, and the angel followed suit. Crowley remained sitting across his lap, but now rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and began to talk again.

“The worst bit was when I got back. I had to put other stuff in the potion that went into the curse breaking. You know about your contribution, and the blood. I also had to… contribute. Same as yours. It was the last thing I wanted to do at that point. Seeing as I can pretty much only do that while I’m thinking of you. It felt so wrong, so disgusting, to be doing that while you were two rooms away, chained up. I didn’t want to think of you like that, but I also still needed to think of you _somehow_ to manage to get it done, and I hated myself for that, for having to think of you like that, even if it was to save you.”

Aziraphale turned his head to kiss Crowley’s forehead softly. “Thank you my love. I don’t mind that you thought of me that way, I confess I did as well.” Crowley huffed in amusement.

“Well at least the feeling was mutual then, I just didn’t know that at the time. I just looked at it… just kind of in my hand there, and I was so disgusted, I hated it, I never wanted to look at it again, never wanted to touch it again, banished it. Got rid. I felt disgusting. Felt like I’d sullied you with it anyway, despite everything.”

“Oh my love I’m so sorry. I felt terrible to have made you hate yourself like that. I love you however you present, Crowley. I mean that, darling.” He cupped the demon’s face in his hand and brought their lips together again, then cradled him tight, rocking gently, as the longcase clock ticked away the hours in the otherwise dusty silence of the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Illustration provided by Alice Rovai as a birthday gift to me as a supporter, she very kindly gave me permission to use it in this fic, thank you Alice.**  
>  **Instagram:[https://www.instagram.com/alicerovai/](https://www.instagram.com/alicerovai)  
> Twitter: <https://twitter.com/alice_rovai>  
> Tumblr: <https://alicerovai.tumblr.com>  
> **  
> She also has an account for supporters on that platform which may not be named on AO3 that begins with a P where people can support artists, please go and support her there too if you can.


	13. Something more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale continues to help rebuild a broken Crowely piece by piece and he gains in confidence. Crowley wants to share himself with his angel. They may be moving slow, but they're getting there.

Aziraphale took his time with Crowley over the next few weeks. They spent time just holding each other. They went out, to theatres, museums, exhibitions, classic car shows and more. Then at home sat and chatted, or shared comfortable silences as Crowley scrolled through his phone and Aziraphale read, or sometimes read out loud to Crowley, usually while the demon dozed with his head in the angel’s lap. 

At night, they’d cuddle, kiss, and allow hands to drift over each other’s bodies over their clothes, until the touch became comforting to Crowley. 

“I want to give you more,” Crowley murmured eventually, planting kiss after kiss into his angel’s neck.

“You don’t need to ‘give’ me anything, my love, there’s no pressure, Crowley. But I’m happy to _share_ myself with you as and when you’re ready for that.”

“I want to share, Angel.”

“Alright, darling. How would you like to begin?”

Crowley contemplated a little. “Lights off,” he said after a while. “Just more cuddling and touching to start.” Aziraphale snapped at the lights, then reached out to kiss his love again.

“Should I undress?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley mumbled an affirmative, and he felt the demon removing his own pyjama top, so Aziraphale followed suit, leaving his bottoms on for now, letting Crowley set the pace in that regard. He felt Crowley lean over and stroke his broad chest, then begin kissing the skin there, moving slow. Aziraphale stroked his naked back and relaxed into the attention. 

“Beautiful Angel,” Crowley murmured against his skin in between kisses, his touch reverent, hands sliding over the soft muscular curves of Aziraphale’s form, worshipping his shape.

“May I return the favour?” Aziraphale asked after a little while. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room and he saw Crowley nod then lay back. Aziraphale kissed him long and slow, then moved his kisses lower, down his elegant long neck, nibbling his clavicles and sucking on his nipples gently, landing a flurry of kisses all over his lean ribcage and abdomen. He felt Crowley’s hand twine in his hair, and a happy rumble vibrated in the demon’s chest. 

The angel skimmed a hand up Crowley’s thigh over his pyjama bottoms, caressing the jut of his hip bone, then slowly, tentatively, across to lay gently over the demon’s mound.

“Is this alright darling?” He asked softly. Crowley nodded and gave a murmured sound of contentment from above. He applied a little gentle pressure, and his fingers moved lower, between Crowley’s slim thighs. The demon’s hips rocked up slowly into the pressure.

“Aziraphale… can I touch you?”

“Of course, Crowley.” He removed his hand and lay back next to his love, then Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s left hand and replaced it on his crotch, then his own right hand slid down to cover the angel’s over his clothing, fingers brushing over the hardness of his length jutting out underneath. Aziraphale moaned and shuddered at the longed-for caress, his cock twitched at the contact, and his own hand pushed a little further between Crowley’s legs. 

The demon began to slowly massage Aziraphale’s cock through the fabric with a knowing touch, then he paused and tugged questioningly at the waistband. Aziraphale nodded, lifted his hips, and pulled his pyjamas off fully. Crowley hesitated, and then did the same, kissed Aziraphale, then lay back again. He repeated the movement of taking the angel’s hand and placing it over the red curls between his legs, and took Aziraphale’s length in hand properly, encircling it and drawing up in long, smooth strokes. 

Aziraphale allowed his fingers to quest deeper, feeling Crowley’s legs part in invitation, and dipped into the wetness between his folds. The demon moaned gently and canted his hips up more. The angel’s fingers kept moving and drifted in slow circles around the firm bud of Crowley’s clit, drawing more groans from him, as Aziraphale struggled to maintain concentration given the incredible sensations of his lover’s hand stroking his cock with a practised ease. 

The angel had imagined this moment in so many ways, Crowley finally touching him, and allowing himself to be touched in turn. Even before the curse, he’d yearned after this, while under the curse he’d have happily chewed his own arm off to experience it, and he didn’t think he’d last long under such skilled talented hands. He only hoped that his own touch felt as good for Crowley, squirming on the sheets next to him, breath coming in shorter gasps now as he ground his hips up against the angel’s touch with a needy whine at the back of his throat. 

Crowley’s rhythm faltered as his hips moved against Aziraphale’s touch, stilling suddenly, body going tense, shuddering, then his hips bucked violently a couple of times before he sank back onto the mattress with a sigh, muscles going loose, then turning his head to kiss Aziraphale’s shoulder in thanks.

Aziraphale moved his hand to his own cock where Crowley’s had stalled. “May I come for you, darling?” he murmured. Crowley nodded against his skin, and his hand moved down instead to massage Aziraphale’s balls while the angel stroked himself through his own release, spurting onto his hand and chest. He quickly snapped to banish the mess before Crowley could dwell on it too much, then rolled over to wrap his demon in a loving embrace and kiss his soft lips. 

“Thank you my darling, for trusting me to take care of you.” He whispered. Crowley nodded and nuzzled into his neck, relaxed and drifting to sleep already, sated at last.

* * *

When Crowley woke, he felt Aziraphale spooned up behind him. The angel had actually dozed off for once, which was a surprise. He could also feel Aziraphale’s hardness pressed up against his buttocks. He wasn’t sure what to think of it just yet, but continued to enjoy the cuddle nonetheless. Aziraphale’s arm was wrapped around him, and he twined his own arm around it, holding his hand and pulling it closer around him. 

A little while later, he began to sense Aziraphale rousing, loose muscles beginning to grow restless, and then suddenly freezing. He guessed it was because the angel had become aware of the potentially awkward situation literally between them and wasn’t sure how to address it. Crowley forestalled the anxiety by snuggling more firmly back up against Aziraphale’s warmth with a satisfied little hum, and tugging the encircling arm closer around him. “It’s ok, Angel,” he whispered, and felt a gentle kiss on his shoulder in response. 

“Do you want anything?” Aziraphale whispered after a little while, placing more tender kisses along the back of Crowley’s neck and shoulder, nuzzling close. Crowley brought their joined hands up to his lips and kissed his love’s hand fondly. 

“Maybe.”

“What would you like, sweetheart?”

Crowley wasn’t sure. At least not sure how to put his desires into words, not with Aziraphale, not since everything. He’d been forthright about his wants before, with seduction targets, with random hookups of his past self, but with this angel, with this newfound vulnerability, his whole world had shifted on its axis. He’d been broken and put back together again, but he wasn’t sure of how much pressure it would take to crack the fragile repair again. The initial rawness had gone, and he wanted Aziraphale so badly, he always had, but his mind just kept trying to flit back to what they’d gone through, push it away as he might.

Crowley squirmed forward, Aziraphale, worried, released him immediately and watched him carefully, with concern writ large across his face. “Crowley? Are you alright love?”

The demon rolled over to face Aziraphale, nodded, and reached out to take his hand. “Kiss me? Everywhere?” Understanding dawned on the angel, and he collected the lean frame of his love into his arms, and their lips found each other, slow and deep and passionate. Aziraphale gently pushed on Crowley’s shoulder, encouraging him to lie back on the bed, then he lifted himself up and proceeded to kiss all over his face, nibbling on his ear, down over his serpent sigil, his cheek, throat and chest. 

“Crowley, you are so indescribably gorgeous, my dear, I could never tire of seeing you laid out so beautifully for my attentions my love.”

He worked his way gradually lower, moving slowly and periodically glancing up to check Crowley was still ok. Aziraphale got to his lover’s hip, nibbling it gently, then kissed closer to the tangle of red curls between his legs. “Is this alright? Is this what you’d like?” Crowley gazed down, eyes hazy with desire.

“Yes, Angel. Yes.”

Aziraphale placed a gentling hand on his thigh, repositioned himself, and encouraged Crowley to move his thighs apart, kissing the inner aspect of each one reverently, working his way back up to the silken folds of his vulva, darting his tongue out to taste, caressing with a feather light touch. He licked and kissed, nibbled softly and sucked, circled, lapped, pushed his tongue in deeper, and felt his lover’s fingers grasp at his hair, encouraging him further with gentle moans. 

Crowley’s hips began to move with the stimulation, and Aziraphale’s already hard cock twitched in response, but this was about Crowley, not him. He concentrated on his task, gradually unravelling his lover into whimpers and fractured gasped syllables. Crowley was whining and beginning to tense up as he had last night, muscles quivering with impending release, and Aziraphale redoubled his efforts, until the demon cried out, hips lifting off the bed, a gush of wetness escaping onto the angel’s tongue, thighs tightening around his head, before relaxing back down again. 

“Angel..” Crowley whispered hoarsely, “come up here and kiss me.”

Aziraphale shifted up Crowley’s body, encouraged by welcoming arms, until he was atop the demon, kissing him deeply, then became aware that Crowley was grinding his hips up against him, and his cock was rubbing delightfully against his lover’s hip. 

“Oh Crowley…you feel divine my love.”

“More.” Crowley whispered against his neck, spreading his thighs a little further and wrapping one leg around Aziraphale’s hip, then purposefully rubbing against his stiff cock. “Please, Angel, I want you.”

“You want me to make love to you, darling? You’re sure?”

“Yessss.”

Aziraphae kissed him once more, then re-aligned himself a little better, and ever so slowly, slid into his lover’s welcoming depths with a sigh. Crowley wanted to cry at the gentleness with which Aziraphale was making love to him, but bit back on the urge, lest it be misconstrued. He wrapped his arms around the angel’s strong back, working his hips up in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts, his mind lost in the pleasure of it all, being stretched so sweetly. It was all he’d dreamed and more. He couldn’t think straight, he just needed more and more. 

Aziraphale’s lips were kissing down his throat, occasionally nipping gently, murmuring words of love into his hot skin, telling Crowley how unutterably beautiful he was, how gorgeous his eyes were, how perfect his body, how delicious his labia, how tight and wet his vagina felt around his cock. Crowley wrapped his long legs around his lover’s hips and clawed at his back, beginning to gasp out with every push forward, feeling another orgasm building, then crashing over him like a wave, hips stuttering, back arching from the bed with a sweet cry of satisfaction, as Aziraphale fucked him through it, slow but determined, now content to seek his own completion, picking up the pace as the demon’s heels encouraged him to greater effort. 

Aziraphale was lost in the sensations of being buried so deeply within the love of his life, every feeling intoxicating, he never wanted it to end, and yet chased after his own orgasm now, almost crying at the feeling, so perfect, as if Crowley had been made for him and him alone. He felt it building hot and urgent in the pit of his belly, balls tightening, and then he was coming hard, cock pulsing with each spasm of release, his face buried against his lover’s shoulder. 

“Oh my love, my love, my perfect Crowley, I love you, my darling, my perfect darling…” Crowley’s hands were stroking down his back. 

“Thank you, Angel. I needed that. I love you.”

“We both needed that, I think.” Aziraphale went to withdraw but Crowley wrapped his arms and legs tighter around him, keeping him in place.

“Not yet, Angel. Stay there? Please?”

“Of course, Crowley.” He laid his head on his love’s shoulder, nuzzling in, allowing his body weight to sink down onto Crowley, an all over body embrace. They stayed like that for a while, taking comfort from the other’s closeness, until eventually Crowley shifted a little underneath his angel. “Should I get off?” Aziraphale queried. Crowley whined and shook his head, trying to cling tighter, but Aziraphale could tell he was getting uncomfortable despite his protestations, so slowly removed himself anyway, and lay down next to Crowley, laying a comforting arm across his thin chest. He looked across at his beautiful demon, copper hair fairly glowing in the morning sun that streamed through the window.

“Was that alright, my love?”

“Definitely. You’re perfect, Aziraphale.”

“So are you, my love.”

After a while, they showered together, Crowley’s reticence over his body dissipating in the angel’s love and acceptance. After breakfast they headed over to Crowley’s flat together to check on the plants, and just to sit and relax for a while, to start to associate the place with something positive instead of negative. They snuggled on the sofa and watched tv together for a while, just enjoying one another’s company.


	14. Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are more aspects to helping heal Crowley's mind, Aziraphale nudges him along with love. Crowley's confidence is returning. Soft loving and fluff, finishing with a nice dose of wingtimacy.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, angel and demon mainly stayed at the bookshop, but Aziraphale insisted on accompanying Crowley back to his flat at regular intervals ‘to check on the plants’, then to ‘enjoy the bigger television and sofa’, then suggesting they take a nap in Crowley’s bed. He wanted Crowley to be able to get past his negative association with the place, not with any intention of remaining there long term, Aziraphale was rather considering a move out of London instead in the future, but he wanted to help heal as many aspects of Crowley’s fears as possible. 

It seemed to be working. Crowley was acting more at home, kicking his shoes off when he got in, rather than keeping them on and itching to leave again as soon as possible. Cooking Aziraphale dinner in the kitchen instead of insisting they eat out, and finally agreeing to nap on the bed, cuddled up to his angel. 

True, it was his own huge bed in his own bedroom, not the incinerated bed in the banished second bedroom, they didn’t mention that, nor endeavour to reinstate the forgotten room, but it was something. 

It was while they were snuggled up in bed in pyjamas, watching the other big screen tv in that room that Aziraphale noticed something different. Crowley was snuggled up to him, and he felt a distinct pressure against his hip. He thought he was imagining it, until he nuzzled his face into Crowley’s hair, and felt the demon grind against him slightly, and it became more apparent. He wasn’t sure whether to say anything or not, he didn’t want to draw attention to it lest Crowley feel awkward about it, so decided to just go with the flow instead. He rolled over slightly to wrap his demon more fully in his arms and give him a proper kiss. 

“Would you like me to do anything for you, love?” Aziraphale whispered softly into his skin, hands caressing his demon’s chest but not yet wandering any lower. Crowley nodded silently, then reached to take the angel’s hand and drew it lower, to where Aziraphale could feel the swelling firmness of a cock under his pyjamas. Crowley had manifested it back again at last, perhaps his dysmorphia over it was easing as well. 

Aziraphale stroked it gently through the cloth, kissing Crowley thoroughly to distract him from overthinking things. “Are we overdressed, dear?” he asked, as a way of finding out if Crowley would like to take it further. The demon smiled shyly and snapped to banish both of their clothes, that answered that question, then. Aziraphale wrapped his hand around Crowley’s warm smooth shaft, surprised at the size of it, and stroked some more, using gentle pressure, and feeling the demon respond, his face flushed and body sinuously moving against him, seeking more. 

“May I taste you, darling?” Aziraphale very much wanted to indulge that fantasy, if Crowley was amenable.

“I’d like that” his lover murmured in response, and rolled onto his back. The angel kissed his way down Crowley’s body as before, taking it slow. He carried on stroking his lover’s cock gently, thinking. “Would you also like to use it on me, darling?”

Crowley hesitated. “Would you like me to?”

“Only if you want to as well, Crowley, but yes, I’d like that if you would.”

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed, as if not quite believing what the angel was offering. “I could open you up, while you use your mouth on me, if you want?”

“Great minds think alike,” Aziraphale smiled at him. “I’d rather been wondering if you’d be amenable.”

“Hang on a sec then…,” Crowley rolled over and rummaged in the bedside drawer, withdrawing a bottle of lube. “This ok, Angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, and as Crowley laid back again, he positioned himself in a 69 position over the demon, knees either side of his shoulders. Crowley pulled his hips down toward his face, and while Aziraphale wrapped his lips around his cock and began to lick his way down, Crowley licked under Aziraphale’s, kissed and licked at his balls, licked up his perineum to his arse, then began to lick and kiss there, as the angel moaned indecently. 

Crowley then squirted some lube on his fingers and brought his hand up to caress his angel’s behind, circling his tight hole with a light touch before gently pushing in with a single finger, going slow. Aziraphale began to rock in time with his lover’s movements, encouraging him deeper, and feeling his finger just circling the area around his prostate with a light touch, a tantalising tease. He lifted off Crowley’s length for a moment. “You can give me more, darling, please…” He felt Crowley’s finger withdraw, heard more lube being dispensed, and then two fingers were entering him, just as patient and gentle as before, and resuming the slow relaxing massage, drawing a low groan from the angel’s lips. 

Crowley had forgotten his anxiety, his crotch feeling like it was immersed in a cloud of pure pleasure, warm, wet and exhilarating, distracting him from his hesitation over it in the first place. Aziraphale was making such beautiful noises, and the demon was delighted that his own hands could cause such pleasure for his lover. He knew he was good at this, and the fact he was finally getting to use his skill on his angel, the only being he’d ever truly wanted, filled his charred heart with warmth. 

It was becoming too much, and he didn’t want to come yet, he gave Aziraphale’s thigh a squeeze. “Angel? Slow down, love, too much, not finished with you yet.” Aziraphale gave a final lick and lifted off, looking round at Crowley, who inclined his head in invitation. “Come here?” Aziraphale turned around and bent over his lover to kiss him deeply. Crowley gazed up into his eyes. “Lie back for me, Angel?”

Aziraphale laid back, love glowing from every part of him, as Crowley moved between his thighs to carry on, this time sliding a third finger in patiently, and paying more attention to his prostate, massaging it in little circles, making the angel squirm and gasp. “Ready for me, Aziraphale?” 

He nodded urgently, and Crowley withdrew his fingers, applied some lube to his straining cock, and eased himself in slowly. Aziraphale’s legs wrapped around him as Crowley buried himself to the hilt in Aziraphale’s hot sweet depths, hips grinding against the angel’s, bodies close, supporting himself on his elbows either side of Aziraphale’s head, rocking his hips without drawing back, his face fierce with concentration, teeth gritted and muscles hot, slick with sweat and shaking with desire. 

“Christ, Angel… fuck… I can’t get enough of you…” 

He’d forgotten how good this felt, but it was even more intense with Aziraphale than any human could ever be, it was almost too much, he didn’t want to just come immediately, he wanted to make his lover feel good as well, so he slowed, then paused to regain control, feeling the hot urgency of his orgasm receding again, until he felt confident to start moving once more. Aziraphale was a comforting softness all around him, steadying him, loving him so intensely he could almost feel it. He bent his head to capture his angel’s lips once more as he ground deep into him, Crowley's hips rolling against his. 

Wanting to give Aziraphale more, Crowley sat up and repositioned slightly, kneeling back, buttocks on his heels, he hauled Aziraphale up his lap, a leg either side of the demon’s hips, and slid in again, then took the angel’s cock in hand to stroke him in time with his thrusts, making him whimper and shudder under Crowley’s touch. 

“Angel? Can I…?”

“In me? Yes, please, Crowley, yes.”

Crowley thrust another couple of times then stilled, and twitched, grunting softly, through the spasms of his orgasm, jaw tight and eyes closed, then opened them in surprise, looking down as Aziraphale came in his hand, spurting over his own abdomen. The angel felt a brief moment of panic, hoping that the sight didn’t bring any negative memories back for Crowley, but he just released his breath and smiled, let Aziraphale’s cock go then bent forward to kiss him deeply. He slid out carefully then snapped to clean up the mess and wrapped himself around Aziraphale and nuzzled into his neck affectionately. 

“Thank you, Angel. For everything.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Crowley, you mean so much to me, darling.”

Crowley shrugged and snuggled closer, tightening the grip of his limbs around the angel’s soft frame. “You mean everything to me, Aziraphale,” he mumbled against his neck, barely audible. 

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley would have behaved differently in bed, if things hadn’t happened how they had, if he’d be the one to lead the way more confidently, to be the brash, confident demon he’d always portrayed himself as. Certainly, when he’d occasionally observed Crowley setting out to perform seductions on humans, he’d been suave, confident, and oozing sexuality. Aziraphale felt pained to know that aspect of his personality appeared to have been stolen from him, at least for now. Perhaps it would return in time. He’d never imagined that he’d be the one nurturing Crowley through their first sexual experiences together, he’d rather thought it would be the other way around, but he didn’t regret it. He felt an overwhelming wave of love for his demon, trusting to his care, being so vulnerable and showing the soft sensitive tenderest parts of himself to his hereditary enemy. 

Crowley had always been like that from the start, he supposed. He approached the principality on the wall, knowing Aziraphale could smite him into oblivion, and yet doing it anyway, then when the rain started, not knowing what it was, he’d stepped toward the angel, trusting him to protect him from the unknown phenomena in some way, so Aziraphale had, instinctively, he thought. As Crawly had stepped toward him, he’d raised his wing to shelter him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

He’d never wanted to stop since then. He fell asleep and dreamed of protecting Crowley from the world. 

Which was why when Crowley woke some hours later, it was surrounded in a soft warm cocoon of white feathers that Aziraphale had wrapped around them both. 

* * *

“Aziraphale?”

The angel mumbled in his sleep and stirred, wings tensing around them for a moment. Crowley kissed the chest that he was cuddled up against. Aziraphale smiled and curled his wings tighter around them again. Crowley kissed some more, until those blue-grey eyes finally fluttered open, trying to focus on him. 

“Oh. Wings. Sorry love.” Aziraphale went to stretch them out, but Crowley grasped one leading edge gently and pulled it around him again. 

“Nope.”

“You like it?”

“‘Course I do, Angel. Who wouldn’t? It’s lovely. You’re protecting me.” His expression was soft. Aziraphale smiled back and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s slim frame as well. 

“Well what did you think you were doing for me, Crowley? You protected me too.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, as if it wasn’t anything worth talking about. Aziraphale wasn’t going to let that fly. 

“I mean it, Crowley, everything you did for me, I still can’t quite believe how lucky I am to have you, you cared for me so selflessly, you literally went through hell for me, you hurt yourself so much just to keep me safe, and Crowley…?

“Mmm?”

“... I’ve never felt so loved, or so cared for, so cherished, because of everything you did for me. I could never possibly repay you for what you’ve done, I know how much it’s hurt you to do all that, and I’ll do anything to help heal that hurt, Crowley, for as long as it takes. I’ve loved you for so long Crowley, it hurt to see you lose part of who you are, that aspect of your personality, and it hurt worse to know that I was the cause.”

“No. Aziraphale, no. You weren’t the cause. The curse did that, not you. I won’t allow you to feel guilty for something that wasn’t your fault. Yeah, it was hard. Yeah, it hurt, but don’t for one second blame yourself for this, Angel. I won’t let you. This was done _to_ you, to _us_. To hurt us both. I’m not letting them win. I’m taking what’s good out of this situation and I’m fucking keeping it, forever.”

Aziraphale smiled to see Crowley’s strength shine through. He didn’t quite know how to reply to that, so he didn’t. But he did pull his beautiful demon into a soft and very thorough kiss, shielding them both from the outside world in a blanket of white wings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along with this, I know it was rather rough at times. I realise the "sex pollen" / "love potion" / "sex curse" / "fuck or die" theme often goes with a trope that uses it as a way to force the characters to have sex. I wanted to go in a completley different direction with my take on it obviously. I did NOT want Crowley to use sex with Aziraphale to break it. 
> 
> So instead we have him doing anything else to cure the angel he loves, even if it breaks himself in the process. He knew that if he'd succumbed, that Aziraphale would never have been able to forgive himself for "forcing" himself on Crowley and that it could have been so much worse. 
> 
> The problem is that having to use some of his own bodily fluids in the potion for the cure really messed with him and his self-image. It was a tricky thing to put a name and tag to. I discussed it extensively on a few platforms with other Good Omens and general AO3 fic writers, specifically non binary, genderfluid and transgender friends and acquaintances. There was a fairly even split on the terminology that was suggested. 
> 
> Given that Crowley can and does change how they present and can physically change their genitals at will as well, it wasn't entirely clear whether in this case it was dysmorphia or dysphoria, or a bit of both. 
> 
> Erring on the side of caution, I decided to tag for both as either way it is a complicated emotional journey for Crowley regarding his body and how he feels about it and/or parts of it. Plus his *ability* to change it makes it somewhat different to a human experience. 
> 
> I also wanted to extend my thanks to some very supportive people (you know who you are) who helped me on a personal level with some stuff I was going through regarding some elements in this fic who gave me some support and understanding.


End file.
